Something Different
by makeitstay
Summary: Amber/Nathan Carmela Largo is a girl who is used to getting everything she wants without question. He's something different, something intriguing. He thinks her rude, abrupt and brash. And, she might be just as broken as he is. *Chapter 15 now added*
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This fic is dedicated to the ever amazing Rippertish! (Check out my fave authors and read her fics :D) She inspired me to write this.  
Also a note on Amber's name - I originally started writing it calling her Amber Largo but then realised that she was originally called Carmela Largo before she changed her name to Amber Sweet, a fact that isn't in the film but I felt I should make this fic more 'true' to the actual facts and I swiftly changed it to Carmela. So there you go.  
This pairing always appealed to me on some level because in the scene 'Who Ordered Pizza' Amber and Nathan's interactions are interesting to say the least. I'm quite aware that I have seen the film entirely too many (not enough) times, and have noticed all sorts of subtle things. But that's what obsession is all about, and without my Repo obsession just WHERE would I be, I ask you?! (Probably in pretty much the same place, however I wouldn't have written a whole load of fics about Repo, nor would I have several of Shilo's costumes, and a Repo Man jacket, hanging in my hallway!!!).  
Also, there's some bad language in this one. I'm not big on using bad language, but it's unavoidable when it's Amber fucking Sweet you're writing about amiright? xx_

She was fifteen the first time he met her.

A lanky looking girl with long chestnut hair, pale skin and strangely vivid violet eyes. Quite an angular face although not unattractive, with a very defined jaw and painted scarlet, bee stung lips. She was wearing a clinging, black halter top dress that bunched at her thighs as she sat, languidly, on the small couch in Rotti Largo's office. She was alone, and had a bored expression on her face, examining her perfectly manicured scarlet fingernails in the gleaming light that illuminated the room. She looked around as he entered, watching him over the top of the couch. He didn't notice her at first as he walked to Rotti's desk and put his heavy refrigerated carry bag down on it. The bag contained a recently repossessed kidney. Yet his employer was not here to sign off on it, which was irritating.  
He saw her out of the corner of his eye and turned to face her. She watched him with interest and sat up straighter on the couch, those violet eyes seeming to glow.  
"Are you looking for my dad?"  
Her voice was oddly childish, and he watched her uncross and recross her long, thin legs, which were clad in knee high, shining purple boots with buckles down each side, and black fishnet tights. Ah, this must be Carmela Largo, Rotti's only daughter. He'd heard about her, but had never met the girl, who he'd thought lived with her mother in another city. He nodded curtly in response, running a hand through his hair.  
"He's in some stupid meeting." She explained, "I wish he'd hurry up, he's taking me out shopping."  
Nathan glanced at her dress, thinking that there was no way he'd let his daughter leave the house wearing something like that. On second thought, he'd never let his daughter leave the house at all. He pushed that thought far to the back of his mind, however.  
Mostly to fill the silence he said, "Shouldn't you be in school?"  
Carmela laughed, flicking her hair out of her face, "Oh, I don't need to be in school anymore. I quit." She stood up and grinned at him, a catlike expression. "I'm going to be a famous singer, don't you know?"  
Nathan leaned his weight on the desk, regarding her coolly, "Oh, you're a good singer?"  
Her tone is defensive, "Of course!" She put her hands on her hips; giving him a sultry look which he felt was rather inappropriate for a girl her age, "I'll give you an autograph if you want. It'll be worth tons of money one day."  
He didn't respond, just quietly looked towards the door of the office, willing Rotti to appear. He was keen to get home to his own daughter, and didn't care much to be making small talk with Carmela.  
The girl pushed on, "I'm a better singer than Blind Mag is, you know. She doesn't even sing in English, I mean, who the fuck wants to listen to a song you can't understand, right?"  
Nathan gave her a quizzical look, and just shrugged noncommittally, "I don't think that's the point."  
She looked faintly annoyed, and abruptly changed the subject, "See my boots?" She stuck a leg out for emphasis, balancing on one leg to let him fully appreciate her purple boots, "They match my eyes, huh!"  
Nathan nodded, "I guess they do."  
Carmela moved closer to him, to give him a better look at her strangely coloured eyes, "These were a present from daddy. Brand new, state of the art corneas!" She looked him up and down, "Have you had any surgery?"  
Nathan shook his head and she looked disappointed.  
"You're Nathan Wallace, aren't you?" She asked, looking at him with a thoughtful expression, biting her lower lip.  
He nodded, glancing at his watch and feeling quite keen to leave. His daughter Shilo would be waiting for him.  
"You're a repo man." Carmela said, with another catlike grin, "I know all about that stuff."  
Nathan looked a little startled, "You do?"  
He found it borderline obscene that a teenager should know about things like that. Carmela touched him lightly on the arm and he shrank back. It was an overly familiar thing to do, and Nathan preferred to keep a distance between himself and others. Yet she knew who he was and didn't seem disgusted or frightened. What a singularly strange girl. Or was she just a typical Largo? That was probably more likely. Those Largos. Strange bunch, indeed. He'd had some dealings with Rotti's sons, who were 'learning the family business' as they say. It was all about gold and gore for the Largos. They loved both with equal measure it seemed.  
She nodded, her violet eyes glinting, "My daddy says you're crazy."  
An electronic bell sounded, followed swiftly by:  
"Carmela!" Rottisimo Largo's bellowing voice filled the office, as he strode in from the lift, "What are you doing?"  
Carmela looked back at him guiltily, stepping away from Nathan and then fixing an innocent, girlish smile to her face, "Nothing, daddy."  
Rotti gave her a hard look as he passed her, to sit behind his desk, "Wait for me outside."  
Carmela smiled and obediently left the office with funny little strides, looking down at her shining boots as she did, and not casting Nathan another glance.

-

In years to come he would see her in passing a few times, and always those eyes, often being a new and different shade, but always unmistakably hers, would watch him, with some hint of a question playing on her face. He was something different than she was used to. He was someone who didn't care she was Rotti Largo's daughter, didn't treat her like a celebrity. And he didn't seem to want her. More than that, he was something she couldn't have. He was in some way unreachable for her, which was a strange and new concept for a girl who was given everything she asked for. He was something new and different. Something exciting.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the dead of night. He had the man cornered in a dimly lit alley, there was no escape now. Repo was very good at what he did. The man's hands were tied behind his back, and Repo restrained him easily with one gloved arm across his chest, pressing him into the rough, brick wall. With his free hand, he held up the transparency which contained the details of his latest victim, and scrutinised the photo against the man's face, which was wide eyed with terror, yelling various things to do with 'please let me go' and the like. Repo had heard it all before, and he neither cared nor paid attention.

His keen eyes rechecked the photo against the man's contorted and terrified face, and once he was satisfied he had the right person, he set to work. Repossessions weren't much different from organ transplants, although quite a lot simpler in many ways. No need to mess about with anesthetic, no concerns about cleanliness. The pavement could be his operating table if he so chose. All he had to worry about was getting the organs out unscathed, and making sure they were as fresh as possible. That's why it was best to keep the victim alive for as long as possible. He laughed as he worked, for the man was making the most amusing pleas now. It's quite funny; the things people will say when they are being cut open. It really is.

Slowly, the pleas died down as the breath left his new, intimate acquaintance's body. And then the man was still, and Repo was holding a perfectly healthy looking liver (except for the fact that it had just been ripped from someone's body, but no need to split hairs). He double checked the Geneco bar code printed on the bottom of it. Satisfied with that, he placed the organ in his carry bag, sealing it tightly with a deft movement. He stood up from where he had been crouching over the now still body, and took off his helmet, to take a deep breath of the night air. It was cool and crisp, and smelt only slightly of the metallic, subtle scent of blood. He heard a slight noise behind him, at the end of the alley, and whipped around, startled.

There was no mistaking Carmela Largo. He didn't know how long she'd been there – that man had been a particularly noisy one – but she was standing with her arms folded, scrutinising him. Her hair was black with pink streaks at the moment – but her hair colour changed more often than her eyes did. It hung about her face in shining ringlets, and she put him in mind of some messed up kind of a gothic Barbie doll. Her eyes were heavily made up with huge false lashes. She walked towards him, looking fearless, arms swinging at her sides, hips swaying hypnotically in her elaborate, pink and black dress which was cinched at the waist and flared in the skirt to fall in ruffles to her thighs.

"Nathan…" She said, a small smirk twisting her glossy, purple lips.

"Get out of here." He replied, his voice a lot hoarser than usual, as he bent down and picked up the container holding the liver.

She smirked at him, stopping in front of him and flipping her hair haughtily out of her eyes. The ringlets moved and rippled, settling about her face and shining unnaturally, "Oh, don't give me that." She said, in her girlish, breathy way.

"What do you want?" He asked a nonplussed expression on his face. Had she seen him kill that man? How long had she been watching him?

She twirled a ringlet around her index finger and looked at him with heavily lidded eyes, "I love a man in uniform." She flicked her eyes up and down his body appraisingly.

His look was one of disgust, and he took a step back from her, "Are you_ high_?"

"Not yet." She smiled, perfect little white teeth glinting in the street lights.

He clutched the carry bag tightly in his hand, "What are you doing here?"

She ignored his question and eyed him curiously, "Did you really kill your wife?"

Nathan bristled, unwanted thoughts and images assailing him as they so often did at the mention of Marni. He glowered, trying to stop the memories that teased and tormented his fractured mind.

"I knew her, when I was young." Carmela continued, twirling a strand of hair thoughtfully and swaying her hips absent mindedly, "She was a nice lady, I think, until she ran off."

"I..." He trailed off, and his voice is strained now, as he wonders why on earth he needs to explain himself to Carmela of all people.

Carmela eyed him carefully, "I don't care, anyway. Daddy paid more attention to me after Marni ran off with you. And I don't care if you killed her."

Nathan frowned, for he didn't want to be bothered with her right now. Carmela Largo and her little games. The mention of his beloved wife was too much. He pushed her to one side and walked hurriedly from the alley. He heard her heavy, clumping footsteps behind him.

"I know what kind of a man you are, you know!" Her voice is shrill when she yells, and it carries through the air like a knife.

He kept walking, although he glanced back towards her, his helmet under his arm and his black coat billowing out behind him, "You have no _concept_ of what kind of man I am." He said it in that rasping voice, but she heard him as clearly as if he'd whispered it in her ear.

Carmela stopped in her tracks, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully and watching him through narrowed eyes, which today were a strange aqua colour with flecks of gold. She shook her head, turning to walk in the opposite direction, and continue her search for a certain zydrate dealer who owed her a shot. She was twenty now, and well in the grips of surgery - and zydrate - addiction. She didn't see it that way, of course. For Carmela, it was life. It was living. Feeling alive, isn't that all anyone ever wanted to do? There was nothing like the feeling of a new surgery. Nothing like the oblivion of the glow. There was nothing like it._ Nothing_.

Sometimes she felt there was really nothing, at all, inside her. All the more reason to change. She used to be asked 'what do you want to be when you grow up?' She'd never been sure. But now she knew what it was.

I want to be different.

-

That night during a fitful sleep, she dreams of him, that repo man Nathan Wallace. He has her tied up against a fence but he's not repossessing any of her organs. No, he's up against her, deep inside her, thrusting into her, and making her beg for more.

And then he says, "You're dirt."

And she says, "Harder!"

And wakes up in the grips of an intense orgasm, tangled up in her satin sheets and drenched with sweat. She lies in bed panting, staring wide eyed at the top of the canopy which covers her bed. It takes her hours to fall back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: I know these chapters are pretty short, but it's easier to just divide it up this way than to put it all as one big long thing._

She had a huge and elaborate twenty first birthday party. Held in a grand hall in the Geneco tower. Everything was decorated in shiny silver and white balloons, with glistening golden streamers that said 'Carmela' over and over again in curly, white lettering. Everything looked so expensive, from the glasses to the food to the very tablecloths which were a shining white satin. Her presents were spread over an enormous, long table at one side of the room. And everyone danced and talked and ate and drank with abandon. Carmela was bored, though. And craving a hit of Z. She fidgeted, scratching irritably at her stomach through her itchy, white taffeta dress. She scanned the room for familiar faces. Her brothers were there, arguing about something or other over the buffet table laden with the expensive food and drinks. And a few of her friends from the club circuit hung around the other end of the room, drinking from the crystal glasses and laughing a lot. Carmela couldn't be bothered with any of these people today. Damn, she didn't even _know_ half of them, she was sure. Well, she'd probably met most them out on the town at some point, but who could say when?  
She wanted some _fucking_ zydrate, not to be stuck here, pretending to be little miss sunshine for the masses of people who gravitated around her, just because she was Rotti's daughter. She looked around again, as her brothers lapsed into a screaming match, wrestling with each other and cussing loudly. Everyone else seemed to have their attention directed towards the Largo brothers as well. Luigi was apparently attempting to drown Pavi in the punch bowl. Fucking stupid brothers, but useful nonetheless. Carmela used the distraction to take her leave of the whole stupid party.

-

She pulled off the hated taffeta 'respectable' dress which her father had insisted she wear to the party. Underneath she wore a black PVC mini dress that showed off her figure quite well. She had boyish hips, and well shaped breasts which responded astoundingly well to push up bras. She also had designer lungs and an enhanced heart. 'It's what's inside that counts', after all. She surveyed herself in her full length mirror quickly, pulling on her favourite pair of chunky, black high heels. They had a two inch platform, and corseting up the back in violently red ribbon. She didn't have much time until her father would notice she was missing. She had to get out, get the glow, and get back to the party. She half ran, with quick, girlish strides, arms held out either side of her for balance, to the lift and rode it down to the ground floor. Her hair was dark red today and cut in harsh bangs around her face, hanging down to her shoulders at the back. She got bored so quickly of hair styles. Almost as quickly as she got sick of her face. Her nose had changed shape so many times, and her lips had been bigger, smaller, longer, shorter. But she still looked like Carmela. She didn't seem to be able to stop looking like Carmela. Sometimes she wanted to break every mirror she saw.

-

She walked through the graveyard, with long, confident strides across the ground which was slick with mud and filth. The smell of decomposing bodies was such a common occurrence in the city that it didn't bother her, didn't seem to bother anyone in this dystopia. There were so many graveyards here, so many dead bodies rotting and festering inches below the earth. Carmela was high maintenance in many ways, but she didn't care about dirt or gore. You'd be stupid to, in a world that worshiped surgery. And in a city built on top of the dead. Absolutely stupid. She's anything but stupid. She skipped across a short expanse of dead, damp grass and looked around thoughtfully, searching for the grave robber who often hung around down here. She didn't have much time, she had to find him fast and get her fix. Although, going back to the party was becoming less and less appealing.

She turned out of the graveyard, convinced that he was not there, and walked quickly along the dark, shadowed pavement, listening to the satisfying clack-clack-clack of her heels on the cobblestones. She spotted some obvious Z-addicts on a corner, huddled together despite the humid night air.

She walked towards them, bristling with confidence and straight to business, "Where is he?!" She demanded her voice clear and shrill.

The group of four turned to look at her, all fishnet and torn lycra and eye makeup. They seemed to shrug collectively and she bristled with anger. So hard to find good help these days! Fucking junkies, they couldn't handle the glow without getting strung out and stupid. Carmela looked at them with contempt. What the hell were they all doing here if the grave robber wasn't around?

"A repo man just snatched Dallas." Muttered a gangly, male youth with blue hair, somehow answering her silent question.

Carmela whipped her head around to face him, and frowned at him with her glowing amber eyes.

"What repo man?" She asked, a thrill of excitement in her chest.

She hadn't forgotten her meeting with Nathan all those months ago, and of the longing she now felt when she thought of him. He was a tough man to corner, that was for sure. But the inner city was pretty much entirely his jurisdiction, so it was highly likely it was him they spoke of. He was the best repo man that her father had, after all. So they said.

A girl with magenta dread falls looked at Carmela in disbelief, "_What_ repo man? Just a repo man, okay!? He's probably killed Dallas by now! Shit!" She burst into tears and Carmela rolled her eyes.

Like she cared about any of these losers. Like any of them mattered. They were just no hopers anyway, what did anyone care? She sighed angrily and demanded to know where the repo man had gone. The junkies pointed, wordlessly towards a secluded street, looking around fearfully. Carmela smirked at them and flounced away.


	4. Chapter 4

"He won't bother to write or to phone you…." Carmela murmured, reciting the well known rhyme about repo men.

Nathan seemed to flinch with annoyance. He'd finished the night's target and had been looking forward to getting home. He would deliver the organ to Rotti first thing in the morning. But there she was, Carmela fucking Largo, hands on her hips, looking as slutty and evil as ever... Ha, he just called her evil, and he was the one who just sliced a woman open and removed her lungs, while she screamed. Nice. So, add 'hypocrite' to the list of his flaws, it wasn't a big deal. He was still full of adrenalin from the recent kill, and he watched her, through the blue tinted mask which threw her features into harsh relief.  
"Carmela Largo." He said, not removing his helmet, but she knew it was him from his voice.

She regarded him with that familiar, catlike smirk, running one of her hands down her PVC clad body and bringing it to rest on one of her white, smooth thighs, "Did you know, even my brothers want to fuck me?" She asked, eyeing him craftily.

"I'm sure they have impeccable taste." Nathan bit back, but she had his attention.

Carmela looked hurt, momentarily, before narrowing those glowing eyes at him and stalking towards him. Her shoes made much noise on the concrete as she walked in quick easy strides, until she stood before him. She chewed her scarlet lower lip with a sultry expression.

Nathan sighed heavily, wrenching off his helmet and giving her a scathing look, "Isn't it your birthday today? Shouldn't you be at your party?"

She giggled at that, and reached out to run her fingers lightly over his arm, which was covered to his shoulder by his customary heavy, black rubber gloves, "I'd rather party with you."

Her hand came away from his arm and there was blood on it. She didn't look disgusted, she just continued to look at him in that calculating way, flicking her hand to cast the scarlet droplets off. He directed his eyes firmly away from her and set his mouth in a line, not letting any expression show on his face.

"How did you know it was my birthday?" Carmela asked, moving a fraction closer and shifting her weight, trying to show off her curves to their full effect.

He looked a bit contemptuous, "I read it in the paper, what did you think?"

(She thought maybe he cared.)

She shrugged dismissively, "I thought maybe you were stalking me." She grinned, "I wouldn't mind if you were."

He wasn't making a move to get away from her so she used the time to press herself against him. He could feel every part of her through that obscene dress she wore. He was fairly certain she wasn't wearing any kind of underclothes. He could feel her hip bones grind against him. He tried to ease himself away from her but she followed, pressing into him, with those glowing eyes never leaving his pale green ones.

"What is this?" He sounds tired and a bit exasperated.

She just looked at him, her head slightly to one side, lips pouting, "This…?" She said, softly, reaching up to his shoulder and running a hand over the buckles that held his gloves and apron to his jacket. Her fingers moved teasingly over the buckles, her eyes on his face, daring him to stop her.

Nathan felt a cold weight in his stomach, a churning, confusing feeling that made his flesh crawl. Yet he didn't move away. He heard the clips release, one after the other, and the heavy apron fell to the ground between them, slick with blood. She tugged on his gloves and they fell to the ground, too. She pouted at him, her hands moving down to rub teasingly over his groin, mischievous fingers crawling under his jacket, trying to find the fly on his pants .

"You could do anything you wanted to me." She added, in a husky voice, leaning in close to his ear, so that her breath was hot and fresh on his cheek, "I wouldn't mind that, either."

He grabbed her arms with a ferocity that made her gasp, and spun her around to pin her to the brick wall of the alley. A sinister smile twitched his mouth, an expression which would instill terror in his victims. But Carmela looked at him with a coy smirk, a small sigh escaping her lips as he pressed his body against her.

"You shouldn't say things like that." His voice is a growl and it makes her skin tingle all over.

"Why not?" Her smile is teasing and she leans close to his face, eyes on his, challenging him and questioning him.

Her arms are pinned at her sides, but she moves her hips towards him, pushing against him and feeling the unmistakable bulge in his pants.

He crushes her into the wall, looking down on her with an intensity that matches her own. Something in his face seems to soften, though, as he gazes at those glowing eyes. He relaxes his grip on her and then brings a hand up to cup her face. He looks at her with a tenderness that makes cold fear rise in her. A repo man isn't scary. Human compassion is fucking terrifying.

"What colour were your eyes….originally?" He asked, in a soft voice quite far removed from his previous tone.

Carmela looks wounded, suddenly. Her brows contract in an expression so sorrowful he almost thinks she's about to cry. But only for a moment, before her expression hardens and she glares at him, tossing her head angrily to free her cheek of his hand.

She isn't weak. She isn't someone who can be manipulated, dammit! She isn't an innocent and precious child! She's Carmela fucking Largo, daughter of the saviour of the world, the most recognised woman alive! Nobody messes with a Largo. Nobody says no to a Largo. He of all people should know this. Why would he ask such a stupid, meaningless question like that? Sentimental idiot! For some reason it fills her with a rage that burns in her chest and makes her shake.


	5. Chapter 5

"I don't wanna _talk_ I wanna _fuck_!" She exclaimed shrilly, tearing at his jacket with claw like hands, trying to undo the multiple buckles that hold it together. Jesus _Christ _how long must it take him to get dressed?!

His face loses that compassionate expression, hardening into a glare again, and he grabs her hair and yanks her head painfully backwards. He crushes her lips with his own. She gives a muffled groan of protest, feels him bite her lower lip.

He drew back, "You do, do you?" He said it in that rasping growl, and she just looked at him, lips parted slightly, a small trickle of blood trailing from her lower lip where his teeth had broken the skin.

Her smudged lipstick is the same colour as the blood, and as her hair.

He keeps his hand entangled in her hair, pulling it painfully enough to bring tears to her eyes, and with his other hand he reaches down to tug her skirt upwards. The night air is cold on her exposed skin. She doesn't wear any panties and it repulses Nathan slightly, but Repo certainly doesn't care. Carmela murmurs, colour rising to her pale cheeks as she feels his hand touching her, exploring her thighs and moving gracefully up to her soft, smooth pubic mound. The bricks are rough and grate against her shoulders as he presses her into the wall, roughly thrusting a finger inside her. She's hot and slippery and tight. He kisses her again, rough and predatory. She kisses him back, groaning into his mouth, caught somewhere between the excruciating pleasure and pain he is giving her in equal amounts. She wraps one of her legs around him, pushing her hips closer to his hand. He massages her clit with his thumb in hard, circular motions, plunging a second finger deep into her as he does, drawing a muffled moan from her lips.

Abruptly, he backs away from the wall, dragging her after him, and shoving her down onto the cobblestones at their feet. She groans in protest, falling ungracefully to the ground, her dress up around her hips, exposing her slender white thighs, and everything else, as she lands heavily on her back, her elbows only just breaking her fall. She feels the skin on her elbows graze the rough ground, and looks up at him with heavily lidded eyes, as he lunges at her, the weight of him knocking the air from her lungs.

She wraps her legs around his waist, squeezing him with her thighs. She can feel him fumbling with his pants, and she looks at him greedily, gazing at him from under her heavy black lashes. There's still blood on her chin from her broken lip. She buries her hands in his hair, grabbing roughly at his dark, damp locks, as she bucks her hips against him impatiently, kissing him wetly and eagerly. He grabs her hips, pulling her roughly towards him, his hard, pulsing manhood sliding haltingly into her. Damn, for sure she's had some sort of surgical enhancement in this area, because the friction is unbelievable.

It's been a very long time – years, in point of fact, but who's counting? - and it occurs to him later to wonder, why her? Why was she the one for whom he let himself forget Marni for long enough to satiate his more primitive urges? Or was it just that she was there, hot and eager? Something about her revolted him, but something about her intrigued him, too.

He wasn't sure how long they were there in that dank, dirty alley, only metres away from the corpse of the woman he'd recently dispatched. Her breathing was hitched and hot on his neck and she bit him, hard, again and again, covering his neck in tiny pink marks and lipstick stains. He moved against her, slamming into her without regard for the bruises she'd surely have tomorrow. He ripped her dress down, exposing her well rounded breasts.

There are several jagged scars that run down the middle of her chest, from various surgeries. With those scars, and that pale skin, and that painted face, she reminds him of a doll. A fucked up doll that got broken and stitched back together. When she climaxes, she buries her face in his neck and her whole body shakes. Funny, he'd have thought she would be a screamer. He lets himself go shortly after, biting her soft, white neck as he does, and groaning into her hot, pulsing skin.

-

She watched him, as he straightened his clothes and picked up his various belongings that were strewn on the ground. She stood up shakily, pulling her dress down over her thighs, and pulling the straps up onto her shoulders. She felt light headed and her heart was still racing, beating a crazy rhythm in her chest. Fuck, she still needed to get a hit of Z,and her father would certainly have noticed she was missing by now.

"I'll bring my whip next time." She said, her voice a sultry purr.

The expression, 'the cat who got the cream' would spring to mind, but it's a bit too close to the truth to be anything less than obscene.

Nathan gave her a nonplussed look, "There won't be a next time."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her pouting lips drawn together tightly. She opened her mouth to respond, but he was already walking away, out of the alley and into the darkened streets.

Did he think he was better than her? Did he think he was above her? She could contest quite differently to that! The marks all over her were evidence that he was no better than she was. She may be a bitch, but at least she's honest about it.

"You're just as fucked up as me, you know that!" She bellowed, "You just don't have the balls to admit it!"

She gave a cry of disgust, and sauntered out of the alley, desperate for her fix now. Fuck this. She needed oblivion, the beautiful calm of not feeling. She ached all over. Zydrate would take care of that.

-

She's Carmela _fucking_ Largo. And she hates it. She doesn't want to actually be seen, doesn't want to be recognised. She doesn't want anyone to know her. Doesn't want anyone to realise that there's a great big fucking void inside her where her feelings and conscience should be. And she's the one who dug them all out. Dug them out as much as she could and changed her face, body, insides. Because it's better than being miserable, it's better than being…Carmela. Anything's better than anyone knowing, who Carmela really is. But she isn't exactly sure who that is, any more.


	6. Chapter 6

The official story was that Carmela Largo had gone out for some fresh air during her birthday party, and had been mugged by a gang of zydrate addicts desperate for a hit. This was a story that seemed to fit with her disappearance from the party, and being found hours later, disoriented and disheveled. No one mentioned that she'd been high as a kite when the guards found her and brought her back home. Her father knew the truth of course. She vaguely remembered being brought home and falling onto her bed in a stupor. She heard her father yelling at her from the doorway, as she lay, unmoving and uncaring, on her wonderfully soft bed. It felt like heaven, her duvet was soft and silky on her skin and it was intensely pleasurable just to lie there, feeling it under her hands.

"You're a disgrace!" her father yelled from the doorway.

Thoughts raced through her head like smoke and steam, _Mmm, everything is wonderful, everything is fine._

"Look at you! I'm ashamed to call you my daughter!"

_Mmm, I can't recall, exactly when I'm not sure when exactly, exactly...._

"What if people find out about this?!"

_But everything is so wonderful, wonderful...I don't know where I....My eyes, my eyes are full of water and it's shining, it's shining like gold_.

"I give you everything you ask for! Why do you do this, _why_?!"

_What colour were...what colour...what colour were your...were your....what colour...._

She didn't hear anything else but she was pretty sure her door slammed eventually, as her father stormed out, and she slowly drifted into a blissful slumber. She felt as if she were under water, looking out at the world from deep, deep down where nothing could hurt her or touch her, sinking deeper, and deeper. And so happy, so euphoric. She felt like she was free.

_What colour were your..._

_-_

She awoke hours later and sunlight was streaming though the large window next to her bed. She felt sweaty and uncomfortable, still wearing her rumpled PVC dress. The zydrate was leaving her system and she felt the slow, crushing weight of reality coming back to her. She groaned and rolled out of her bed, stumbling to sit in front of her large mirror at her vanity. Everything hurt. She stared at her face for a while, trying to fight off the inevitable sobering that was occurring. Her euphoria was abating and she hated it. She hated this part. How she hated this part.

She took a black eyeliner pencil from her assortment of makeup which littered the vanity top. Her hand was shaking so badly she could hardly hold onto it. She brought it up to the cool surface of the mirror, and carefully traced around the outline of her face which was reflected in the mirror. The clear black line on the mirror was jagged and wavy, from her shaking hand. She frowned in concentration and traced her eyes and nose as well. Shaking, waving lines of black, crayon like eyeliner. Then she picked up a lip liner and traced her lips onto the mirror in a scarlet colour. Her hand was shaking so badly she dropped the liner. She looked at that distorted, horrid little picture staring at her from the mirror.

Then she smeared the whole sorry mess with her hand, back and forth across the mirror, so that all remained was red and black smears marring the glassy mirror. She could barely see her reflection now, all but hidden behind the black and red mess. She just sat there and stared at it, her mouth dry, lips chapped and sore. Then she picked up the eyeliner again and scrawled messily in childish, uneven print.

CARMELA LARGO.

Then she rubbed that as well, until it was one big, black mess.

-------------------

Shilo was sitting on her bed, watching TV when Nathan entered the room. She gave him a small smile, turning from the TV to look at him. He looked tired. He often did.

"Dad, what's wrong with your neck?"

Her large brown eyes lingered on the angry marks that were scattered on his neck. She hadn't noticed them this morning, but they were noticeable now. He self consciously adjusted the collar on his shirt, trying to hide them.

"Did you take your medicine?" he asked, ignoring her question.

Shilo nodded, and cast her eyes away from him, glancing over at the small television set that was opposite her bed. The evening news was on. Nathan followed her gaze to the TV and did a double take, as Carmela Largo appeared on the screen.

"I do not feel anger towards the people who mugged me." she said, "These people have a very real problem, they shouldn't be judged or hated, they should be helped." she was speaking in a remarkably cool and mature way, quite different to the way she usually spoke.

She looked altogether demure in a simple white dress and furry, light blue shawl around her shoulders. Her lower lip seemed swollen, but she was made up to perfection and her hair fell in straight, shining locks around her face.

"I'm proposing the creation of the Zydrate Support Network, to provide both help and education to those who need it. We can make these streets a safer place." she continued, with a little half smile.

Nathan felt slightly sick, and grabbed the remote from Shilo's bed, changing the channel.

"What's zydrate?" Shilo asked.

Nathan looked at her, marveling at how much she resembled her mother. And he couldn't help but think how very unlike Carmela she was. And he couldn't stop himself from wondering if Carmela had ever been that innocent. Shilo was so innocent, so pure. Surely Carmela had once been that way. Long ago, perhaps. Before the surgeries, before all of it. Surely. She was brash and rude and self absorbed. But there was something else, too. She was broken.

"Dad?"

He was brought back to the present and he hesitated, "It's a painkiller, honey, that's all."

-

That night he dreams of her, and she's got a bow in her hair, and her eyes are black and they look like glass. And when he tries to touch her arm, it falls away like a doll's arm and lies on the floor. And he recoils in horror from her.

And she says, "You're no better."

And he wakes up in a cold sweat, staring at the ceiling. Carmela was broken. She was probably just as broken as he was.


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: "Lo sapevi?" = "Did you know?" in Italian , and "Sporca puttana" = "Dirty whore" in Italian (I don't actually know Italian, so I am just going off what Google translator tells me haha if it's wrong please let me know!) Also, in order to write the 'drugged' parts I actually got rather drunk! Good plan hey :P_

Carmela wore her hair long, black and wavy around her face. She was deep in concentration, as she sat before her vanity, carefully gluing long, thick lashes to her eyelids with shaking hands. The false lashes had shining silver jewels on them, like morning dew. She blinked slowly, making sure the lashes were perfectly attached. They drew attention to her glowing amber eyes, whose outlines were smudged artfully with black powder. She pouted, checking her shining, scarlet lips. She stood up, shaking slightly with a buzz of excitement and also a dull longing for a hit. It had been too long and she was starting to feel irritated, impatient, craving the glow. She twirled around in front of her mirror, looking at her gorgeous new dress. A present from her father, it was a pale grey, shimmering fabric, with a full, ruffled skirt which stuck out at the sides due to yards of black mesh underneath. The bodice was an intricate corset, laced up tightly, squeezing her waist in, wasp like. Her pale breasts were pushed up, perfect cleavage marred by her jagged scars. She smirked at her reflection, then turned and skipped from the room, shining white stilettos thumping dully on the lush rug which covered her bedroom floor. She could feel the craving slowly building within her. Had to go find a hit. Her condo was large and lavish, decorated with garish wall hangings, satin cushions and opulent furniture of white, gold and burgundy. Nothing was too good for daddy's little girl, after all. She fiddled with the silver pendant which hung around her neck as she waited for the lift. The impatience was growing within her, building to an aching insistence. She jabbed the button for the lift repeatedly. Tapped her foot impatiently and drummed her long fingernails on her tightly bound stomach.

Finally, the lift arrived, doors flying open and she stepped inside. She rode the lift down to her father's private quarters, several floors away from hers.

She skipped out of the lift, casting her gaze around the dimly lit hallway, "Dad?"

She wandered down the hall and into the exuberant dining hall. Her father wasn't there and she got annoyed; she was sure he usually had dinner around this time? The table was long and draped in a shining silver cloth. Golden candlesticks stood at intervals along its length, with huge candles, flaming merrily. The flames leaped and danced, casting flickering shadows onto the table. She heard a noise behind her and whirled around.

She glowered,when she realised who it was. "Oh, _great_. Where's daddy?"

Paviche smirked at her, "And a good day to you, sister!" he said in his infuriatingly Italian accented voice.

Carmela glared at him, folding her arms over her stomach. She was impatient for the glow, and wanted some extra money from her father to pay for it.

Paviche was arrogant and annoying. Luigi was not so bad, sometimes, when he wasn't screaming and yelling. But Pavi. He got under her skin like nothing else, always leering at her and making lewd suggestions. He thought he was so damn attractive, and well, okay, maybe he was, if you liked that sort of thing – black hair and sallow skin and all that. But he was so infuriating! And he was sleeping with half the GENterns; those vapid stupid women whom Carmela despised openly. How she _hated_ those stupid bitches, always giggling and stalking about the place in their stupid little white dresses. Idiots, all of them. God knows how they had enough brain cells to carry out surgeries. God knows how she brought herself to let them to operate on her regularly. Because she hated them, she really did.

Carmela moistened her lips, fidgeting irritably, "Where is he?" She repeated the question.

Pavi walked close to her and stroked her pale, soft arm, from her shoulder to her elbow, with one finger, "You look-a pretty today_._"

Carmela wrenched her arm away, skin crawling. Not this shit again. Her body was starting to get the well known shakes and trembles that came with withdrawal. She felt as if she were running out of time. She had to get a hit.

"Stop fucking around!" She exclaimed, backing away from him.

Her thighs hit the dining table as she walked backwards from him and she hissed in pain and annoyance. Pavi was smirking in that stupid way, those cold eyes shining with glee. Sick fuck. He advanced on her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her towards him. She tried to fend him off, clawing at him with those hard, long fingernails of hers. Her mouth was dry, her body hungry for zydrate, desperate for its beloved drug.

"Fuck off! What are you _doing!_?" She yelled, squirming as he held tightly to her tiny waist

"You should speak-a less, sister. Your-a voice, it does grate, _lo sapevi?_ Your singing is like-a...cat who is in pain?" He grinned as he said it, tightening his grip on her.

Carmela felt her blood go white hot with rage. She screamed at him, reaching out and grabbing one of the candlesticks that sat on the table. She'd only wanted to hit him with it, honestly. She was pretty sure she'd only wanted to hit him with it. But instead she thrust that flaming candle into his stupid, leering face.

He screamed, releasing her, and she spat at him, screaming, "I _hate_ this family!" her voice so shrill it was like piercing needles, "I hate _you_! I hate all of _this_!" She gestured wildly around the room, in a blind rage, "I _hate_ this _fucking family!_".

Pavi covered his face with his hands. His skin was blistering rapidly, angry red streaks all the way across his face. The flame had caught his flesh and seared it. His once flawless and smooth face now marred with bright pink burns. But, as if Carmela cared. She didn't care if he _died_.

"S_porca puttana!" _He yelled, as she ran shakily from the room.

She was shaking all over by the time she took the lift down, and slipped out of the lobby and into the dark streets of the city. She put thoughts of her stupid, idiot brother out of her mind and walked purposefully down the street, stilettos clicking a staccato rhythm on the pavement. Fucking dealer would have to take an IOU, it wouldn't be the first time. He would agree to it. She was Carmela Largo, after all. But she really wished she wasn't.

-

The buzzing, pulsing lights reminded her of vials of zydrate in some way as they lit the dance floor with their ghostly glow. All she could see was flashes of faces and pieces of people, twirling and moving around her as she lost herself in that hypnotic beat. She could feel the beat in her body, moving and thrumming like something living and breathing, pounding in her blood. She was caught in the thrall of it and she moved her body hypnotically, swaying her hips and reaching up towards those glowing, heavenly lights, staring up at them as she danced. So many people were on the dance floor around her, but they all seemed to blur into one body. All she was sure of was that she was moving and feeling alive. So alive! What song was playing, she couldn't tell you if you asked her. But it was beautiful and haunting and the bass was throbbing and she could feel it moving through her and around her as if she were swimming in it. She felt like queen of the fucking world.

Geneco, your friends at Geneco! Everyone loves her. Everyone worships her as she twirls and moves and feels. Feels. Feels complete. She is so complete in this moment, as if this music was the one thing she was searching for all her life. And now, here it is. Finally! Finally! Everything makes sense now! Everything is okay now. Everything is so wonderful, everything is fine. She moves, she feels, she embraces the very art of living. Living is breathing and breathing is moving and moving is music and music is dancing. So, she's alive, right? She's alive and she's spinning, spinning, spinning in circles. _Oh god!_ God? No, there is no god, there is only the music, and the light and the colours and the wonderful feeling.


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: I was trying to keep all the chapters the same sort of length...but this ones a bit longer which annoys me but hey. There you go. My laptop makes this incessant clicking noise cuz the fan is broken in it. Good god it's annoying. It's driving me insane. on and on it goes. X_X_

She's vaguely aware that her body is shaking. That some horrid, foul feeling is overtaking her. The gutter is cold and she should know because she's lying in it. And if she were at all able to form a coherent thought, she'd probably be angry at herself for being such a god damn cliché. Her hair is in her face and her body is convulsing. Into the gutter, acid and water and bile and aching. Alcohol and zydrate do not mix, she should know this by now, but she just didn't care tonight. Just didn't want to care about anything.

_Oh god, where did I go? Was I somewhere else? _

Suddenly, she's aware of everything, all at once it comes rushing in. It's dark, and the bricks are rough, and her hair is in her face. Where did the music go, where did the people go where did the faces go? The world seems to spin around her, like she's falling through space and time and it makes her stomach churn. Heavy footsteps, right near her. She feels someone grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. She gropes blindly in front of her with her hands, trying to push them away. It's a man, tall and broad shouldered but she can't focus enough to see any more than that.

"Get...away." she murmurs, trying to pull herself from his grip.

He holds her tightly, pulling her to her feet and supporting her weight with strong arms, "Hey.."

She tries to focus on his face but the world is spinning, buildings and brick and night sky all whirling and moving around her. She beats her fist on his chest in protest, but the movement is so clumsy she barely makes contact with him. She blinks blearily and looks up at his face. The world is a blur of colour but her hands claw at him, and she makes out the outline of his face. Dark hair, pale skin, black rimmed glasses. Recognition suddenly dawns on her. Nathan Wallace.

"Oh...you." She murmured hazily, eyes bleary and their amber colour dulled from the drug racing through her system, pulsing within her very blood.

"This isn't very good publicity for the Zydrate Support Network, is it?" He asked, with a hint of that smirk of his, "Carmela Largo, poster child for beating addiction. Throwing up in a gutter."

"I don't care! I don't wanna _be_ Carmela _fucking_ Largo!" She exclaimed, suddenly enraged; fighting with all her might against him, trying to kick, to claw and bite, "Get _away_ from me! Get away!"

He sighs in frustration and lifts her up, to hold her in his arms like a rather large and cumbersome child. And he carries her through darkened streets, over cobblestones and past bright lights. She stops struggling and lies in a drug fueled haze, breathing shallowly against his warm chest. His shirt is smooth and warm and comforting. She's limp and she can't do anything but hang, like a fresh corpse, in his strong arms and breathe in the sweet metallic smell of blood and cinnamon.

_Where did I, where did I go? _

She could see, just vaguely, through aching eyes and heavy eyelids, that twilight was here, and it burned. The half light burned her eyes.

"Don't make me go home." she murmured, curled up in his arms, arms curled up around her face, "Don't make me."

_Savior of the world. The world's most famous family. No one says no to a Largo. But you can't have me! You think the world is yours for the taking, but I'm not! I'm not! I'm not! No one stands against the Largos. But I hate you all!_

-

Zydrate comes on like a rushing, racing feeling. Pure adrenalin through your heart and flawless, unadulterated ecstasy and euphoria swiftly follow. Then the world becomes a swirl of colour and shapes and light and sound. Everything moving and swirling and thrumming. The world becomes hazy and beautiful, although bits and pieces can come into sharp focus suddenly. A face, a blade of grass, a certain colour, can suddenly become bright and vibrant and real, amidst the swirling, blurry world. And with zydrate, you're not you anymore. You're not anyone. And yet you're wonderful, whatever you are. Brief moments of clarity assure you of only one thing as you slip in and out of the thrall of that harsh, street grade drug. You are just exactly where you want to be.

And out of all of it, his face was the thing she focused on. She fought to keep her grasp on consciousness, stirring in his arms as he carried her through the darkened house and put her down gently on a soft, velveteen covered couch. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him. She didn't want to leave the soft, warm comfort. Her eyes were heavily lidded, and a sly smirk quirked her chapped lips. She groaned softly against his chest and that button down, collared shirt was soft and smooth against her cheek.

His strong hands eased her gently away from him, much like prying chewing gum from one's shoe, and he deposited her on the couch, backing away from her. He lingered in the doorway, watching her carefully. She slumped back, into the soft cushions on the couch, her legs out in front of her, fancy dress rumpled and bunched up.

The corset was painful against her ribs and she fumbled with the metal clasps that ran down the front of it, sliding them open with dull clunks.

"What are you-" He trailed off and sighed heavily.

Typical. He went out to get a pint of milk during the early hours of the morning when he couldn't sleep, so that Shilo would have milk for her cereal in the morning. And what did he come home with? Not milk. A god damn space cadet, drug addled, messed up Carmela Largo, that's what. And now she's undressing in his lounge room, and precious Shilo is asleep upstairs. And this all feels very, very wrong. The sight of Carmela in his tasteful, old fashioned home is...obscene. Look at her, with her heavy black makeup and tousled hair. Her chin seems more pointed since the last time he saw her. Highly likely that it's been operated on. She's a junkie. He found her vomiting into a gutter for God's sake. A pathetic junkie with so little class it's appalling. And she's Rotti Largo's _daughter_. His boss would surely be less than ecstatic if he were to find out what had transpired between them weeks earlier. Why did he, Nathan, feel the compulsion to help her? Why the _hell_ did he bring her here?

_You're no better._

He covered his face with his hand, sighing heavily as she stumbled towards him, her dress having been shed now and lying discarded on his carpet. She's wearing black, lace panties with a garter belt and suspenders holding up thigh high fishnet stockings. Her scarred chest is exposed and those round, perky breasts with their dark pink nipples jiggle as she gives a flirty smile and shifts her weight from one foot to the other, swinging her hips. She looks at him, squinting from under her dark, thick eyelashes, reaching up to touch a breast coyly. She licks her lips, walking towards him in that hip swinging way of hers.

"Carmela." He says it warningly, as she runs her hand down from her breast, over her taught, scarred stomach, to rest on her inner thigh.

She smirks, flipping her hair out of her eyes and pouting at him. She's unsteady on her feet, eyes half closed,

"Come on, baby." She half slurred, half purred the words and Nathan gave her a look of distaste.

She went down slowly into a crouch, back straight and legs bent on either side of her, and then rolled onto her knees, reaching up towards him. Those wicked, white little hands of hers grabbed upwards at his pants, as she looked up at him with a provocative, suggestive pout. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away from his crotch and gave her a steady look. She curled her top lip in a snarl, trying to pull her hands from his grip.

"I know you want to." She said, and her voice had a dangerous edge to it.

He flung her hands away from him and took a few steps backwards, away from her, "Perhaps you should go home."

Carmela fixed him with an angry look, sitting back on her heels and looking up at him petulantly, "Perhaps I should give you a blow job."

_Such a charming young lady_, Nathan thought, keeping his gaze firmly away from her creamy, smooth thighs as she moved one of her hands delicately over them, stroking her skin and trailing her fingers over to her panties, to flick a finger teasingly over herself. Then she bit her lower lip delicately, her white teeth grating softly on the rounded, scarlet stained flesh.

Excellent plan. Bring the drugged out woman home to let her sleep on your couch. Seemed like such a straight forward notion. He looked at her, as she continued to play with herself, trying to tempt him. Perhaps he should have left her in the god damn gutter for the Genecops to find.

Why the hell didn't he?

She frowned, getting to her feet shakily and walking drunkenly towards him. The Z was still pulsing, flowing through her blood. But it was slightly weaker now. The waves were slowly ebbing. But sobriety was a long way away yet. Nathan moved further back, standing at the foot of the stairs, and he held his hand up warningly.

"Carmela. Stop this, or go home."

She gave him a scathing look. She stood there in that dim light, moving her hands to place them on her hips. She looked furious. How could he refuse her, how could dare he deny her? Her skin tingled with anticipation. He turned away from her, his hand on the banister of the sweeping staircase

"There's a blanket near the couch." He said, coldly, "Go get some sleep, you're embarrassing yourself."

He climbs the stairs and leaves her standing there, shivering slightly in the chill dawn. She lingers there, torn between anger and the sting of rejection. The colours of the carpet are distracting as they seem to move and flow in front of her eyes.

-

Sleep was a hard thing for him to come by at the best of times. The drapes on his window are heavy and let no light into the room, yet he can see the slight illumination behind them, the telltale sign that the sun has come up. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He has taken off his glasses and wears black, cotton pajama pants, his chest bare and slightly cold. He drags the discarded sheet up from the foot of the bed and up over himself. He thinks of Marni and feels a stinging pain in his chest. Marni. The way her dark hair fell in gentle waves around her face. Her eyes, those dark brown, shining eyes that shone when she laughed, which she often did. Marni laughed so often. Always a smile, always a giggle and a joke. There was such an easy joy about her, such a thriving, love of life. A childlike innocence. Now she's dead. The first dawn, after her death, he remembered how he wondered to himself, why on earth had the sun risen? Why should it ever rise again, now that Marni were dead? What did it matter, anymore? He had hated the sunlight in that moment. Hated it for being there, for Marni not being able to see it. The sunlight would never cast a glow on her eyes again, never shine on her hair again. A tear rolled down his cheek and he rubbed it away angrily, berating himself. He rolled over onto his side, staring at the wall. He screwed his eyes shut, willing sleep to come and take him. Willing his thoughts not to linger to the half naked woman in his lounge. He starts to drift off, visions of glowing amber eyes, and shining brown ones too, flitting around his head.

And then he's aware of a sudden warmth behind him, and thin, yet muscular arms encircling his waist. Someone sliding under the sheet beside him, long legs brushing his.

He comes out of his half sleep with a startled jolt, and knows without looking who it is.

"Fucking hell, Carmela." His voice is cold and angry.

Carmela murmurs, nuzzling his neck and keeping her arms clamped around him. He can feel her breasts, pressing into his bare back. They're warm and smooth, and her nipples are hard and he can feel them quite clearly. She feels slightly cold against him, and he can feel her heart beating against his back, a slow, steady rhythm. Her breath is slow and even, hot and damp on his neck. He tries to shift her away, with every intent of forcing her out of the house and making her walk home.

And he realises she's asleep, clinging to him like a child.


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: I have to make a mention here of Emilie Autumn's song, I Know Where You Sleep. I was channeling this song during this fic, in some ways. I find myself quoting it, too lol. I think it's the perfect song for this fic. So uhhhh go listen to it, or just look up the lyrics. I almost made an Amber/Nate music vid to it but I went with Jack off Jill's Surgery instead. Okay that's all from me, on with the filth =3._

The first thing she was aware of was a pounding headache. She struggled to open her eyes but the light was harsh and she groaned, loudly, trying to sink back into oblivion. Small fragments of memories of the night before came to her; half thought musings and dimly recalled visions. She kept her eyes firmly closed, trying to recall. Trying to remember. Her brother. Her _fucking_ brother! Depraved, despicable moron. She moaned, trying to delay the inevitable. Trying to remain in the cool sanctity of sleep. But alas, she was awake. She sat up, and she blinked blearily in the gentle light. She looked around, confused. The room was dark and unfamiliar. She was quite alone. The bed was big, the sheets a dark brown colour. She was covered by a soft, cotton sheet. There was a photo in a frame on the bedside table of some woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She stares at it, confused, trying to make sense of it. That woman looks familiar. Someone...She can't remember who it is. Who the hell _is_ that?

_Was I...where was I?_

Trying to recall, trying to make sense of it all. She just looks around the room, trying to work out what the hell happened last night. She went to a club, she wanted to dance. No, before that. Before that, she scored a hit of zydrate, yes. She had no money but he said it was okay. He gave her a shot from his wonderful, well known gun, against her neck, and she stumbled away, happy and content. And she went to the club and she danced, and danced, and moved. And drank bitter, burning shots. To escape. To be free. And then, and then and then...?

--

He turned the faucet on hard. Hot, gushing water came down strong and smooth and filled the small bathroom rapidly with stifling steam. He stepped into the shower, into that steady stream of water that was almost hot enough to burn his skin. It felt good. He tilted his face up towards it, letting that torrid, searing liquid cascade down his face, through his hair. He kept his eyes shut as water flowed tantalisingly down his body, hot and surging. He had a contract to take care of tonight, and would usually have a nap beforehand. A bit hard to do that with Carmela Largo sleeping in his bed. He had to get her out, make her go home. It was completely repugnant, her being here. This was his house, his sanctuary. Why her? He can vaguely hear the soft thrum of music from Shilo's room down the hall, over the rushing water. Shilo so loved music, especially Blind Mag's. He could just barely make out the soprano's haunting voice.

His thoughts went to that inappropriate woman in his bed. Those scars on her chest and that creamy, enchanting skin of her thighs. Her warm, curvaceous body that had clung to him as she slept. Those long legs, that pallid, smooth skin. A muffled groan escaped his lips as he seemed unable to prevent himself reaching down and wrapping his hand tightly around his rapidly hardening shaft. He leaned into the wall, moving his hand up and down in strong, firm strokes. He quite hated himself for it. It was a confusing feeling that burnt in his chest. Shame and self loathing, twisting and burning within him, mingled with an undeniable twinge of lust. That delicious, aching feeling of illicit pleasure. Carmela. With her pouting, swollen lips and that purring, husky voice. Hot breath and devious hands. He thinks about wrapping his hands around that white, pulsing neck of hers and squeezing the breath from her throat. Thinks about making her shake and cry with sweet rapture. Another groan escaped his lips as he gripped himself tightly, in that steamy, torrid heat of the shower. His breathing was heavy, his eyes closed tight. God dammit. He wanted her. He wanted her badly. And he let go of of himself hurriedly, revulsion filling him, and punched the shining, tiled shower wall with all the strength he could summon.

--

"Carmela?"

The voice is familiar and it washes over Carmela's bleary, foggy mind. She blinks sleepily in the direction of it.

Nathan closed the door behind him softly and walked to the bed, to place Carmela's grey dress on the bed beside her, having retrieved it from the lounge. His hair is damp, clothes fresh and clean; the collared shirt and vest, the long dark pants. She ponders that he looks like a god damn school teacher in that outfit. All he needed was some shiny leather shoes (for his feet are bare) and she'd expect him to start teaching history. Carmela fucked her history teacher once, when she was fifteen. It was a substandard experience.

"What the fuck happened last night?" She asked, and that's all she can say, the only words she can force from her throat.

Nathan looked at her, as she sat, slumped forward on his bed, clutching a sheet up around her and shivering slightly. Her black hair was tangled and hung around her face wildly like tangled straw. Her eyes were red and raw, bloodshot, makeup down her cheeks, lips chapped. She looked somewhat like a corpse. Her amber, glowing eyes regarded him.

"You don't remember?" he asked, handing her a glass of water he expects she might be needing. She reminds him, quite inappropriately, of Shilo, as she gulps down the liquid hurriedly, before handing him the glass back. He walks and places it on his dresser, before turning back to face her.

She coughed, tasting bile in her throat, and looked up at him. She looked like a broken child, with pallid, hollow cheeks. And round, well shaped breasts, he can't help but notice, as the sheet slips down a little. Okay, the child analogy is no longer useable. Nor does she resemble Shilo in any way now, something he's somewhat relieved to see.

"Now I know where you sleep, repo man." She murmured, slumping back on the bed and leaning on her elbows.

Nathan fidgeted, crossing his arms and regarding her from the foot of the bed, "I can't have you here, you need to leave."

She shut her eyes tightly, and shook her head, causing her tangled black hair to ripple and move around her face, "Nooo." she moaned.

She slowly opened her eyes, regarding him with a stony look. She doesn't like his glasses. Would much prefer him to wear the Repo mask. She sat there on the bed, feeling cold, shivery and also feeling the first ripples of withdrawal.

The come down was upon her and reality was a painful and unwanted thing. She eyed him, leaning back and letting the sheet fall down from her, to run her fingers over the jagged, angry scars that ran down the length of her chest and stomach. She noticed him glance hurriedly away.

"Why did you..." She trailed off, licking her dry, sore lips, "Nice _house._" She said it with a hint of disdain, giving him a scornful look.

"I thought it was better you didn't die in a gutter." His voice is devoid of emotion, a mere statement of fact.

She scoffed, "Me? Yeah, right. It'd take more than drink and drugs to kill me."

Those pale green eyes are regarding her and his face seems to crease, just slightly, for a moment, with something akin to concern. And she wants to punch him right in those stupid, black rimmed glasses.

She lay back, her head pounding and body aching all over. She groaned, bringing her hands up to cover her face, wriggling her back irritably against the soft, clean smelling sheets. Flashes and memories came back to her in fragments. Some of them not so good. But Carmela Largo didn't feel remorse. It wasn't an emotion she allowed herself to indulge in.

"What time is it?" She asked, her hands still over her face.

"About 10am." Nathan replied curtly, lingering near the doorway.

Carmela blanched - Christ it was _early_. She felt sick and desperate for a distraction from the come down. Her stomach felt very empty and it hurt. It had been a long time since she had eaten anything but the thought of food revolted her. She ran a hand through her hair, finding it hopelessly tangled. She pulled her fingers out from the knotted, dirty strands roughly. She rolled onto her stomach and buried her head under one of his pillows.

Nathan cleared his throat hesitantly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "Carmela, you need to go."

She jerked her head up and yelled, "Fuck you!" Before dropping her face back into the pillow.

He shushed her hurriedly, "Not so loud!" he hissed, "My daughter will hear you! She can't have visitors, she'll get upset..."

"Whatever...." Carmela said, her voice muffled from the pillow.

He ran a hand through his hair. He felt and looked tired. Fine lines seemed more pronounced on his face. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He wasn't sure he'd been able to get any sleep at all, laying there on his side listening to Carmela's gentle breathing, her body pressed against his back. Thoughts of what he'd done in the shower made him flush with shame. The knuckles on his hand were raw and ached, a constant reminder. He sighed heavily, shrugging off his vest and sitting down on the bed, looking over at her.

His eyes trailed up one of Carmela's legs. It's pale and smooth and slender, covered by the thigh high fishnet stocking with a lace top, hooked onto a garter belt. It's stupidly erotic. His eyes travelled up her back and to her shoulders, bare and exposed. Her shoulder blades stick out noticeably, little triangles poking out from that smooth, white expanse of skin. Her spine is noticeable too, each vertebrae pressing out against that pale skin. He reached out and touched her back lightly with his fingers. Her skin feels slightly cool to his touch.

"You need to get up." He said, but his voice is not as forceful as it could have been, and he found himself stroking her back, running one finger down her spine.

She turned her face towards him, out of the pillow, and looked at him carefully, "You really are kind of bat shit crazy, huh?"

He pulled his hand away, "What?"

She smiled coyly, resting her cheek on her hand and gazing at him, "I've seen you kill a man. You were laughing, you made _fun_ of him while you did it. You _liked it._ Then you can turn around and act like a fucking boy scout, rescuing girls from gutters and looking after your dying kid?"

Nathan's gaze hardened and he flinched as she laid a hand on his arm, scooting closer to him.

"I know what you are." she said, leaning closer.


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Welcome to the smut fest, boys and girls!_

She brushed his lips with hers, those big, lipstick stained lips pressed into his own. He turned his face away from her, repulsion and desire both coursing through him in equal amounts. And shame, for desiring her. She swiftly straddled his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. She moved her hips against him, eyeing him greedily. She snatched his glasses off and dropped them over the side of the bed, pressing into him and trying to push him down on to the bed.

She sighed against his neck, nuzzling him and licking his skin in a long, sensuous movement, "I know what you want." She whispered in that husky, alluring voice that caused tingles on his skin as her hot breath hit his throat.

He grabbed her shoulders, shoving her face roughly away from his neck. He looked at her for a moment, holding tightly to those slim, white shoulders. And then he kissed her, expecting her to taste acidic and unsavory. But her mouth is hot and sweet.

He slid his hands down from her shoulders to cup her breasts, his tongue still exploring her mouth. He slowly eased himself back onto the bed and she undulated on top of him, moving her body in smooth, fluid movements. Her fingers fumbled and sought out the buttons of his shirt, deftly unfastening them one at a time.

She moved up and down against him, feeling his sex grate against her own. He's already hard. She knew he would be. He thinks he's so mysterious. He thinks he's so aloof. But she's seen what he really is. And she's never wanted anyone so badly.

He grabbed her hips, pulling her harder against him, causing her to gasp sharply. She ripped his shirt the rest of the way open, her hands raking over his chest like claws. His chest is warm and smooth, dusted with soft hair. She licked his chest teasingly, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. Her false ones had fallen off at some point, lost somewhere in Nathan's bed or his lounge room, probably waiting patiently to be mistaken for little black spiders seen out of the corner of one's eye. He groaned, thoughts of protest only half formed in his mind and he moved his hips against her.

_She's very nearly half your age, she's Rotti's daughter and she's a junkie. You're a fucking monster, you have to be, and you have to keep Shilo safe, and keep away from everyone. Because you murdered your wife, so you have to protect Shilo, so she can never leave and nothing will ever change.  
And she's a fucking junkie and she tastes like sugar and you want to make her cry with pleasure, and lick her salty tears from her cheeks._

He groaned into her mouth, rolling her easily over to press her down into the bed, his hands on her breasts, massaging and kneading the supple, lovely flesh. Her nipples stand to attention under his fingers as he presses into them with deft, circular movements. She slides her hands down his chest and fumbles with the button on his trousers. Her hands grasp at him, impatient and eager.

He let go of her breasts, grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands away from his aching member which was straining against his pants.

He pinned her to the bed, holding her wrists above her head, breathing hard and looking down at her pale, makeup smudged face. He leaned down into her to lick the scars on her chest with a lurid movement that made her sigh. Those scars are slick and smooth.

He let go of her wrists and moved slowly down her body, lips trailing down her stomach. She let out a gasp as he reached down and teasingly tugged on her panties, while licking her lower stomach along the seam of those black lace briefs.

She pushed her body upwards, allowing him to pull her panties down. He let out a noise of annoyance as they caught on the garter belt, and he fumbled with the clips to remove them from her stockings. She laughed, in a breathy way, as he struggled with the clips. Damn, it's more complicated than a bra hook. He managed to unfasten them at last and slid the garter belt and panties down, flinging them away.

She was watching him with a bemused expression, which rapidly turned into lustful snarl, as he leaned down and kissed her inner thigh, running his tongue teasingly close to her hot, tingling centre.

She let out a soft moan as he licked teasingly along her thighs.

He looked up sharply, "Shhh!" He commanded, and she bit her lower lip with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He leaned down again, running his tongue slowly over her, and his tongue is warm and wet. She claps a hand over her mouth as he continues, her knees up in the air and eyes shut tight. She was breathing heavily, hot and damp against her own palm, moving her hips against him, her toes curling up in pleasure. This was different. This was strange. This was very different than last time. Her face was burning hot as she felt him push two fingers deep inside her, moving them inside her as he continued to lick and suck at her, tongue flicking teasingly one minute, and then slow and languidly the next. She felt her thighs start to shake uncontrollably, and was having a hard time stopping herself from making noise.

A muffled "Mmmmphh" issued from behind her hand and she ground desperately against his face and hand.

_I can't I can't I can't..._

She climaxed, her body shaking and trembling, as she breathed out shakily, waves of pleasure washing over her. It was a tingling, impossible pleasure that that rode over her whole body like a tide. Carmela Largo had had plenty of orgasms before, alright. But this was a particularly good one, even _she_ would admit it.

Her vision was marred with black dots and she blinked blearily, her body limp and heart racing like a drum pounding a crazy fast rhythm against her chest. She heard him grunt as he slid his pants and briefs off, dumping them by the bed. He pushed her over onto her stomach and she whimpered softly, disoriented and mouth dry. She felt dopey and lethargic, felt his arms around her, pulling her up onto her hands and knees. She groaned, pushing back towards him with her hips, and felt him enter her roughly, making her groan. He pushed her face down into the pillow, his hand on her neck, as he thrust into her. She gave a whimper, muffled by the pillow, thrusting back towards him, matching his rhythm with her own. He let go of her neck and reached around her to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples sharply. Her tangled, unruly hair is in her eyes, her mouth slightly open as she pants, hercheek on the pillow, breath forced harshly from her each time he pounds into her.

She buried her face in the pillow again, and he heard a muffled groan, as she collapsed into another shaking orgasm. He bit her shoulder, grinding against her deliriously, hands clutching at her breasts.

The only sounds are that obscene, muffled sound as he drives into her, over and over, their heavy breathing, and the far off thrumming beat of some Blind Mag song.

He muttered, "Carmela." so softly it was almost as if he breathed the words.

She murmured something, and he nuzzled his face into her neck, still riding her, "What?"

"I'm going to...change my name." she panted, "Don't wanna...be..."

She groaned, as he twisted one of her nipples sharply. He licked her neck, and she tasted like fairy floss, somehow. (Later he might ponder that she probably spilt some form of sweet alcoholic drink on herself the night before). He came, sighing heavily, and biting her neck until she made a small noise into the pillow.

Then he clambered backwards from her, pulling out of her hot, tight and slippery walls. She sighed drowsily, sinking down onto her stomach and rolling over onto her back, watching him with a heavy lidded expression. Her eyes seemed the colour of honey and he looked shiftily away from her, pulling his shirt closed over his chest as he scrambled off the bed. He wet his lips, heart racing. Her grey dress was crumpled and squashed into the bed, and she heaved herself into a sitting position, picking it up and looking at it with distaste. Damn, that dress cost 25 grand and they just screwed on top of it.

He pulled on his trousers shakily, fastening them and coughing softly. She swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and wriggled into her constricting, shimmering and slightly worse for wear dress. His face looks flushed, and she feels uncomfortable for some reason she can't quite name, looking away from him. Her hands are shaking as she fastens the clasps down the front of her dress, squeezing her body into the corset.

"Are you gonna call me a cab, or what?" she asked, tossing her head to flick tangled strands from her face.

"What, no limo for Carmela Largo?" He asked, watching her with a bemused expression.

She flinched, "I told you, I'm changing my name." She cast about, retrieving her panties and garter belt from the floor by the bed.

"Hm." He said.

She gave him a deadly look, "What?"

He touched her arm, "I always thought you were too sweet to be a Largo."

Carmela took a shaking step away from him, her heart racing. She looked at Nathan, in his rumpled, collared shirt and dark pants and she hated him. And she felt an aching sadness. But she didn't cry.

She never cried. Sometimes she thought she was going to. Dry sobs would heave in her chest and she'd moan pitifully. But she never really cried. No tears. It was important. If she ever really cried, if anyone ever saw, she'd lose something. She knew she'd lose something intangible. Something important.

She half ran from his house. He didn't try to stop her, not at all


	11. Chapter 11

"Our next guest is the ever fabulous Amber Sweet! She's taken the world by storm with the hot news of her upcoming musical debut. Tonight, at Geneco hall, she'll be performing her brand new song! I hope you've all got your tickets! She's the founder of the Zydrate Support Network and beloved daughter of Rottisimo Largo, saviour and saint of the modern world! Please put your hands together for the one and only Miss Amber Sweet!" The voice was loud and booming, and the crowd cheered.

Amber swept across the stage, looking effortlessly elegant and smiling teasingly, blowing kisses to the roaring audience who were packed into the huge studio. The lights were bright and glaring, half blinding her as she walked confidently, arms swinging at her sides, to sit down gracefully on the comfortable leather couch. The host was a middle aged man in a brilliant, glittering green tuxedo. His hair was black and spiked jauntily, giving him the appearance of a rather overgrown teenager. He was Declan Andrews, world famous for his variety show, sponsored by Geneco (well what on earth _wasn't_ sponsored by Geneco these days?) 'Genetic D Live'.

He jumped up and shook Amber's hand enthusiastically. She smirked at him, her hand cold against his own, which was hot and slightly clammy. She batted her ludicrously long eyelashes, that foxy smirk still in place.

"Miss Sweet, it's so wonderful to have you on the show." Declan gushed, as Amber crossed one long leg over the other, leaning back into the couch as if she owned it.

She wore a powder blue corset along with a black, voluptuous skirt that ended at her knees, along with brilliantly shining, calf length white boots.

"Well, thank you for having me." She said in a breathy, girlish voice, smiling sweetly and giving the audience a flirty wave, her long white fingernails glinting.

The host sat down in the chair opposite the couch and leaned forward towards her with an evident eagerness. He asked her a few questions about what she was up to at the moment, and they exchanged banter for a few minutes, the audience hanging on her every word.

"Now, _Amber._" Declan said pointedly, "I have to ask, what's with the name change?"

Amber smiled, her icy blue eyes glinting, "Well, I need a stage name, don't you think?" She twirled a strand of long, auburn hair around her finger, "And besides, I'm far too sweet to be a Largo."

The audience all laughed and clapped. She smiled silkily, flipping her hair and tilting her head to one side to regard Declan with a sultry pout. He continued to ask her questions about her upcoming performance, about life at Geneco tower and her Zydrate Support Network. She answered his questions, all smiles and flirty looks. It was what people loved her for; that sweet yet flirtatious manner she had.

"Are you seeing anyone special at the moment, Miss Sweet?" Asked Declan, with a cheeky smile.

Amber giggled, "Why, Mr Andrews, are you flirting with me? I'm _high_ maintenance, dear."

The audience all laughed and cheered.

"Now Miss Sweet, what do you say to the allegations that you are in fact, addicted to surgery?"

Amber lost her cool for a moment, but regained it swiftly, fixing her flirty smile in place. She flipped her hand dismissively, "Oh now _really_." She said, "Who hasn't had a little work done here and there?" She grinned and winked, "After all, it's what's inside that counts."

The audience laughed again, cheering and clapping, for everyone knew Geneco's catch phrase.

"And what do you say to the rumours that you take street zydrate?"

Okay, this was getting a little heavy now, and Amber gave him a bemused look, "Are you _serious?_" She gave a little laugh, "I have too much respect for my body to take _that_ stuff. People who take street zydrate are trying to escape their problems. What on earth would _I_ have to escape from?"

And she smiled charmingly, as the audience clapped.

-

Amber marched purposefully from the elevator, moving quickly through the office and over to her father's desk. She was still wearing her outfit from the interview, still looking immaculate and altogether presentable. Her father's office was as shadowy and cold as ever. Opulent and elegant, yet somehow sterile and unwelcoming, too. The walls were dark and rough, the entire room cast in long shadows. The decorative lamps that lined the walls did little to lift the gloom. Rotti was sitting in his high backed leather chair behind his desk, busily sifting through documents on his desk and wearing a serious expression – but when didn't he look serious, really?

"Daddy!" She exclaimed, leaning on his desk and fixing him with a steady look.

Rotti looked up, annoyed, "What is it?"

Amber frowned slightly, "Did you see me on Genetic D?" she asked, flicking her immaculate hair back from her face.

"Sorry baby, I've been busy." he said, and he gave her an apologetic look.

Amber straightened up, folding her arms over her stomach, "I want another nose job." She said petulantly.

"Fine, fine, I'll sort it out later." Rotti said, distractedly as he turned back to the documents on his desk.

Amber watched him with a nonplussed expression then walked to sit down on the small couch that faced his desk. She looked down idly at her white boots, as she smoothed her skirt over her thighs. She'd lived with her father for years now, having spent most of her childhood living with her mother. She'd never gotten on especially well with her mother, or with any of her mother's string of boyfriends (although some of them had liked her a little _too_ much). She had been eager to move to the huge, industrial city and live in Geneco tower with her father and brothers. Her father had always been somewhat distant, seeing her only on holidays, and she had thought living with him might bring them closer. But although he doted on her in his way, always showering her with gifts, there was never any real affection there. In her youth she had sometimes wondered if this was the way all fathers acted. But if all he could give her was gifts and gold, then so be it. She would take whatever she could get, because it was close enough to affection, right? If he never told her she was pretty, but gave her beautiful clothes, then that was close enough, right? He hadn't even batted an eyelid when she announced she had changed her name. She'd almost dared to think that he might care. She loved her father, she supposed. But how she _hated_ him, too!

She examined her nails in the dim light, thinking idly of her idiot brothers. Pavi's face was still a mess, and it made her smile. At least he kept his distance now. He tried getting a facelift to fix it up, and the hilarious part? It got botched and made his face _worse_. Oh well, Geneco were developing some new kind of skin graft now, 'replace your face' or whatever, so he'd probably go in for that. Whatever. She just loved seeing his loused up face; it made her feel powerful. That'd teach him for being a pervy creep. He never told anyone how it had happened, but she knew that was less out of protection for her, and more out of his own shame. Well, it served him right.

"By the way," Rotti said, half startling Amber out of her musings, "I'm organising a couple of bodyguards for you. Can't have you running about town on your own, it's too dangerous."

He didn't add the implied: 'especially when you've taken to disappearing all night and stumbling home half dead the next day'.

Amber rolled her eyes, leaning back on the couch, "Oh, _great_!" she exclaimed with heavy sarcasm, "Well, just as long as they don't cramp my style. And they'd better be good looking."

The elevator bell chimed and Amber looked curiously over the top of the couch towards the lift doors. Her icy blue eyes showed no emotion as she coldly watched Nathan Wallace sweep into the office, holding his well known refrigerated carry bag. And looking like a god damn school teacher as usual in his collared shirt and long coat. He didn't glance at her as he walked to Rotti's desk and placed the bag down without preamble.

"Ah, Nathan." Rotti said, as he rifled opened up a desk drawer and pulled out several transparencies, handing them to Nathan. "These are due in the next couple of days."

Nathan tucked the shining transparencies into his coat and nodded curtly, turning to go. He spotted Amber, who was watching him from the couch, and his face coloured slightly. He hesitated for the briefest moment, before walking back to the lift.

Amber got up, "Hold the lift!" She called to Nathan. "Bye daddy. I should go get ready for my show." she said pleasantly, skipping after Nathan to the lift.

Rotti looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Amber trail after Nathan into the lift. She blew her father a kiss as the metal doors closed smoothly.

Nathan glanced at her, expressionless, "That was subtle."

Amber folded her arms, as Nathan jabbed the ground floor button, and the lift began to move. Out of the window behind them, the bright lights of the city could be seen moving steadily past as the elevator made its smooth decent.

"Did you see me on TV?" Amber asked, "I was on Genetic D, you know."

Nathan didn't reply, fixing his gaze on the window and watching the buildings move slowly past as they went down. The tower was impossibly high and he wished the lift would go faster.

Amber frowned, leaning sullenly against the lift wall, "Well?!"

Fuck, why did he _ignore_ her half the damn time? It was like he wasn't even _there _half the time, like he was lost in his own thoughts so completely that he didn't even hear her speak.

He chanced a glance at her, those pale green eyes regarding her.

He sighed slightly, "I saw it."

She felt a little thrill inside, "I looked pretty good, huh?"

"You seemed very....cheerful." He replied evenly.

She looked at him carefully, trying to work out if that was a thinly veiled insult or not. It was hard to tell.

"I told you I'd be a famous singer." She said, smirking, "You should come to the show tonight."

She delved into her turquoise green clutch and produced a laminated slip of paper, embossed with curly script.

"Here. It's a back stage pass, too." She smiled beguilingly, those eyes glinting with mischief.

Nathan took the paper but didn't look impressed, "I have to work tonight."

"Oh, kill people _later_." Amber said, with a flip of her hand, "They can wait a while to die, right?" She smirked.

The lift doors opened and Nathan strode out.

He glanced back at her as he walked away, "Nice name, by the way." he said quietly.

And she was reminded vaguely, of another time, many months ago. She stood in the lift for a moment, indecisive, and then walked after him. Geneco personnel flitted around the lobby, GENterns and surGENs and the like, as Nathan and Amber walked silently out of the Geneco tower and onto the street. Nathan walked purposefully down the street away from the tower, with Amber close behind.

He sighed again, "What do you _want_?"

She gave him her winning smile, the one she reserved for television and photos, "World peace." Then she gave a little cough of laughter, "Actually fuck that, that'd be _boring_."

They walked through the streets, long shadows and harsh noise all around them in that aching city that seemed to stretch up forever above them.

Nathan gave her a sideways glance as they walked, "You took off pretty quickly the other day." He said quietly.

"I had things to do." Amber replied defensively.

"I thought I might have offended you." Said Nathan, in his nonchalant way.

Amber curled her lip slightly, "Not even _close_."

Nathan looked at her for a moment, then quickened his pace, "Are you escorting me home? Because there's really no need, I think I can take care of myself." he said humourlessly, as she strode faster to keep up with him.

Amber glowered at him, "God! You're such a snob!" she exclaimed.

That was rich, coming from her. He ignored her, walking briskly along the pavement. The streets were only mildly crowded, most people having gone home at this time. Amber strode along after Nathan with a cold determination.

"So what's wrong with that kid of yours, anyway?" She asked cattily, as they turned a corner down another long street.

The traffic on the street roared past them. The air was full of the sounds of cars, voices, distant sirens and Geneco announcements that blared over the huge speakers about the city constantly.

((Ask a GENtern if Zydrate is right for you.)) an electronic female voice could be heard proclaiming from the speakers which littered the streets.

"She's deformed, isn't she!" Amber exclaimed, gleefully.

Nathan gave her a murderous look, "She certainly isn't."

"_That's_ why you keep her locked up in her room isn't it!?" Amber said happily, "Oooh you dropped her on her _head_ didn't you! She's _hideous_ isn't she!?" And she laughed, cruelly.

Nathan rounded on her, stopping in his tracks. He was bristling with rage, and he slapped Amber across her pale, cool cheek with a force that shocked her. Her head jerked violently to one side and she staggered backwards. She touched her stinging cheek lightly with her hand, and looked at him with a cold indifference, her mouth drawn.

"My daughter is perfect." He said evenly, his eyes glinting with malice, "She's absolutely perfect. And she's the only thing in this world I care about. Don't talk about things you can't possibly understand."

She watched him as he walked hurriedly away. Her cheek was throbbing. She didn't show any emotion, just stared after him for a moment. Then she turned to walk back to Geneco tower.

To hell with Nathan Wallace and his stupid sick kid. If she bothered to give any great thought to it – which she certainly did not want to do – she might realise that she was drawn to him for the same reason she had to run from him. Because he might actually _see_ her. Either way, she was bound to lose.

She strode confidently back through the streets towards the tower. Time to prepare for her show. Time to go be little miss fucking sunshine. Carmela Largo might be gone, but Amber Sweet really isn't much different, she has to admit. It's funny because she thought somehow that changing her name would change her, in a way that surgery couldn't. What's that old thing about a rose smelling the same whatever you call it?

Well, she had a different name, but she was still dirt.


	12. Chapter 12

_AN: Do you want to know what song Amber sang? It was her own rendition of I Know Where You Sleep by Emilie Autumn, lol. Of course it was!_

Amber walked quickly to her dressing room, still buzzing from the thrill of performing. She'd never sung before for such a large crowd. So many people, gazing up at her from their seats, hanging on her every word. She had felt like some kind of a goddess up there on that stage, drenched with the hot, bright lights. Her face was hot and slick with sweat from those stage lights, but the air conditioning was cold against it as she swept down the hall. She felt emotionally drained from performing, yet filled with such a buzzing excitement, like the thrill before a fix, like that inexplicable quickening that overcomes you when the seasons change.

She'd taken just enough medical grade Zydrate to take the edge off her cravings and keep her body free of pain. Medical grade zydrate was like taking an elevator, it got you there steadily and let you down slowly, relieving your pain and setting you back down again craving just a little bit more. Street Z was like taking a god damn first class jet to the moon. Bigger high, bigger crash. Both forms of Z were equally addictive, mind you. But the medical grade Z was carefully controlled in its distribution to the public. As a result, if you wanted more you turned to street dealers for the illegal form, which was readily available if you had the cash. In carefully controlling the availability of the medical grade drug, Geneco were in fact creating an army of addicts who trawled the streets for a hit nightly.

Amber entered her lavish dressing room and walked across the room, her intricate tulle dress swishing about her thighs. It was a deep crimson colour with black lace detailing, a large ruffled skirt and tight bodice. She looked like some sort of blood red, gothic ballerina. She sat down at the large vanity, in front of the enormous, gleaming mirror. She carefully wiped sweat from her brow with a soft cloth, and regarded herself in the mirror. Her hair was a deep blue black and hung long and straight around her face. She scrutinised her reflection, and poked her nose, trying to visualise it as a slightly different shape. She heard a soft knocking at the door and frowned, irritated,

"Give me a minute!" She called towards the door.

Damn, was the press here _already_? She'd thought she'd have a bit of time before the vultures arrived, and she was forced to go to the lavish after party being held in her honor. Great. Hours of smiling prettily and being photographed. Oh, she loved the attention, there was no denying that. But it all got so...mundane. So boring.

"Ca....Amber?"

She was a little startled at the muffled voice and she faltered for a moment, "Uh, come in."

Nathan opened the door and entered the room, shutting the door behind him and then leaning back on it. He was wearing that old repo jacket, but no gloves or apron. It was half open, one side hanging down and the hospital green lining of the coat was visible.

She gave him a curious look as he leaned on the door, looking at her. This was a surprise. And Amber wasn't easily surprised.

"You came." She said, in an offhand manner.

"I was just passing by." He said, but he was looking at her with an intensity that said otherwise.

He'd quietly made his way to that hall, for a reason he couldn't rightly name. He'd stayed near the back of the crowd, lingering in the shadows, to hear her sing. The papers would say it was 'Unexpectedly Different'. (Perhaps she wasn't so vapid after all, that's what they'd _really_ be saying. Perhaps Rottisimo Largo's daughter was more than just a socialite. Perhaps she actually had a brain.)

It was hard to say if she could sing or not with the amount of distortion that had covered her voice, and the backing music and back up vocals. But those lyrics had chilled him to the core.

_I know the sickening thoughts that slither around your head._

_I know the gluttonous guilt that buried me in your bed._

Amber looked at him, reflected in her mirror, as she began to brush her hair, "Did you like the song?" she asked.

_I know the illness behind the image you create  
I know the tedious need to turn all you love into hate. _

_I know the secrets that you keep. I know where you sleep._

Nathan cleared his throat, "Maybe. Did you write it?"

Amber laughed with only a hint of warmth, "Maybe."

"You know some impressive words, if you did." Nathan said, continuing the watch her from across the room as she brushed her long, shining hair thoroughly.

"I'm a clever bitch, it turns out." Amber said, with a smug look.

She took a sip from a large crystal bottle which was sitting on her vanity, and then smacked her lips, "Mmm cherry brandy and cola. I invented this you know. Alcoholic Dr Pepper. It'll be the next big thing, I predict."

Nathan grimaced, watching her drink rather ungracefully from the bottle.

He walked towards her, to stand behind her chair, as they watched one another in the mirror. She smelt like cherries. That damn cherry brandy was sickeningly strong. She offered the bottle to him and he made a face.

She shrugged, and opened a small drawer which was set into the vanity. She rummaged for a moment and pulled out a glossy photo of herself.

"I'm doing a stupid meet and greet signing tomorrow. You can have one now." she said, grabbing a lip liner and autographing it with flourishing, curly script.

'To my biggest fan. XXX Amber.'

She handed it to him over her shoulder, "I'm sure you'll treasure it."

Nathan made a non-committal noise, looking at the picture with a bemused expression.

Amber cocked her head to one side and gave him a questioning look.

"Hey, don't you have a perfect kid to look after and people to kill?" she asked, taking another swig from her bottle.

Nathan sighed heavily, "Listen, I-"

There was a pounding on the door and Amber flinched.

"Fuck. That'll be the paparazzi I bet." She rolled her eyes, "Time for the after party I guess."

Nathan looked apprehensive. Him being here in Amber's dressing room was not something he'd want to be common knowledge.

Amber stood up, "Fuck it, I have a better idea." She looked at him, pursing her lips, "Come on."

She grabbed the bottle of cherry brandy cola in one hand, and his forearm with the other. She led him across the room to the fire exit. 'Caution, Only Use In Case of Fire – Door Is Alarmed' was printed boldly on the front of it along with the Geneco logo.

Amber sneered, expertly reaching up to disarm the alarm on the top of the door. How she knew something like that, Nathan could only guess at. The pampered princess was just full of surprises.

He looked back at the dressing room door, briefly considering braving the paparazzi. Then he followed her out the fire door and up the stairs beyond it. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Why are we going _up?"_ Nathan asked.

Amber tramped up the stairs, her boots clacking on the concrete, "Because."

They seemed to walk up those stairs for a long time. Twisting and climbing, up and up. At last they reached a door and Amber kicked it open. She skipped out of the narrow passage. Nathan followed her, looking around warily. They were on the roof, it seemed. A huge expanse of concrete, with black metal railings running around the perimeter. It was brightly lit from harsh fluorescent lights. They were so high up, he could see the entire city stretched out below them.

Amber ran to the railing, to lean on it and look down over it at the city.

"No one ever comes up here." She said, and there was something so childlike in the way she looked out over the city, leaning on that railing in that ridiculous dress.

They railing came up to her hips and she held onto it with one hand, bending over it to lean dangerously out towards that aching space and certain death. Nathan hung back, looking around cautiously and taking in the surroundings. Amber took a large drink from the bottle and motioned him to come over to the rail.

"Look at it. Isn't it _ugly_?" she said with glee, gesturing wildly out at the city with the bottle.

Nathan had to agree. It wasn't an especially pretty city, even with all the lights glowing and buzzing. Impressive was a word you might use to describe it, but not pretty or even _nice_, really.

"This city is the fucking epicentre of the world, right?" Amber said, handing him the bottle of cherry brandy cola with a flourish, "And it looks like absolute crap." She laughed then, leaning further over the railing.

Nathan took the bottle, holding it before him and looking at it with undisguised distaste. Alcoholic Dr Pepper? Good God. He looked out at the city, standing behind that rude and obnoxious, cherry scented woman.

"You're not going to throw up again, are you?" he asked, glancing at the bottle in his hand and then at her.

Amber rolled her eyes at him, "Fuck you." She turned around to face him, her hands still on the rail behind her, "Drink some of that and lighten the hell up, will you?"

More out of curiosity than anything else, he took a mouthful, grimacing at the sickly sweet concoction. So fitting for her, he supposed. The drink was so sweet it burnt his mouth. Amber snatched the bottle back and took another drink herself. She watched him with a knowing smile, leaning back on the railing and looking up at him.

"I love coming up here." She said, "Cuz if I fell over the rail, I'd be dead."

"That's....fascinating." Nathan said, sarcastically.

Amber glared at him, those harsh fluorescent lights glinting off her icy eyes, "I mean it makes me feel _alive_. To think that, if I just leaned a little bit too far, if I just lost my footing and tripped, I'd be _dead_. So then it makes me feel alive, you know? Like surgery." She took another sip, smirking, "Every time I go in for surgery, I think hey, I might not wake up this time. Then I wake up, and I look different, have new scars, new parts or whatever, and I feel...good. Alive. Like I'm really _here_."

Nathan was taken aback by this sudden admission and he frowned slightly, feeling uncomfortable,

"You want to _die_?" He asked

She sighed irritably, "No, stupid, I want to _live_!" She threw her arms out emphatically, "I want to feel alive!"

He moved in closer to her and she felt his arms close around her back, pulling her into him. She was tense against him, unaccustomed to such an act of affection. Her skin buzzed with electricity and she slowly relaxed into his chest, clutching the bottle in one hand, and touching his jacket with the other.

She looked up at him suddenly. "Am I pretty?"

His mouth felt dry and he clutched at her waist, "What?"

She tensed up, pulling away from him and leaning into the railing, her back slightly arched against it and a spiteful look on her face. She instantly regretted her stupid question.

"You really don't know, do you?" He said, and there was such tenderness in his voice that it made her skin crawl.

Fucking human compassion.

"I should go to the party, I'm bored now." She said hurriedly, trying to jerk herself out of his grip, "You're old and boring and I..."

He shoved her against the railing, pushing himself against her, "You're pretty." He said.

She was trembling, half with cold and half with anxiety.

And he said "You're pretty." Again, and kissed her, tasting that sickly sweet cherry on her lips.

She tried to twist away, but was firmly up against the railing. If he wanted to, he could send her over the edge to her death. It wouldn't take much. Her heart raced at the thought and she stopped struggling.

People said she was pretty, sure, all the time. But she didn't see it. Didn't believe it. She was the daughter of Rotti Largo, after all, and everyone had to be nice to her and tell her what she wanted to hear, didn't they? But Nathan never told her what she wanted to hear. Did he?

He drew back from her, and she looked at him with a thoughtful expression, reaching up to run her fingers lightly down his cheek. His cheek was smooth yet the very slight beginnings of stubble were evident, like the finest sandpaper or an emery board. His hair was damp and slicked back from his face, those soft eyes not obscured by the glasses she despised. Who the hell did he think he was anyway with those glasses, Clark Kent? Well, if Superman were a sadistic assassin, it'd be a fair comparison.

"Your daughter doesn't know who you really are, does she." Said Amber, and it was a statement, not a question.

Nathan tensed his jaw slightly, looking mildly off put, "She knows who I am. She just doesn't know what I do for a living."

Amber scoffed, "What you _do_ eventually becomes who you _are_." She said, with a resolve that was unnerving, "I think I know that pretty well."

Nathan looked sad then, and looked away from her, gazing out at the city lights far below. Geneco tower was the highest point of the skyline. They were on top of the world for all they knew. What you do becomes who you are. When did she get so insightful?

Maybe they were both monsters in their own way. Or maybe they were just broken. Sometimes she seemed a child, lost and confused, and then in the same moment she could become a grown woman, powerful and demanding. The face she showed the world was not her true face, but he wasn't sure she knew what her true face was, at all. And he wasn't sure he knew what his was any more either.

Nathan clutched her tightly to him, and kissed her again, forcefully. Her back was arching over the railing and a lustful sigh escaped her.

_You play the victim very well and build your self indulgent hell._

_You wanted someone to understand you well be careful what you wish for because I do_


	13. Chapter 13

It began to rain softly; beads of moisture that caught in their hair like dew, and ran in trickles down their faces. That crystal bottle slipped from her half closed fingers, to land with a sickening crunch on the concrete, breaking neatly into sections and releasing the sickly sweet liquid all over the ground. It trickled over the edge of the building, shining black-red droplets sliding off the edge and down into that cavernous space. They were so high up, it was hard to see the ground from there. Geneco's monolithic structure, testament to the company's power, to Rotti Largo's all consuming grasp on the modern world. And Amber and Nathan, oblivious to all that it represented, standing on the edge of the roof, a black metal railing the only thing standing between them and the sickening fall. The night air was cool, the sky lit from the lights of the city, so that the dark clouds were illuminated. Not one piece of sky was visible, only those grey, ominous clouds. And the city hummed and buzzed far below; lights and cars, metal and brick, an endless droning of noise.

And still he kissed her, pressing her into that railing. Her hot, cherry flavoured tongue was in his mouth, those pouting lips soft and slick against his own. A cool breeze blew, causing her to shiver, tiny bumps appearing on her bare arms and sending tingles all over her skin.

He slid a hand up her back to grope for the zipper on her dress. She was trembling as he tugged it down, and that gothic ballerina creation of tulle and mesh slid down to the concrete at their feet. Her pupils were huge and black as she looked up at him, her angular face lit from those harsh lights, her lips pouting and stained with scarlet paint and cherry brandy. He ran his hand down over her chest, tracing the edge of her strapless bra which was black with silver diamante sequin detailing around the seams. It matched the bikini brief panties she wore, that same silver, shining patterns running along the seams of them. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, keeping her tight against him, and he teasingly toyed with the seam of her bra, the silky material a stark contrast to that soft, smooth skin of her breast.

She gave him a well known coy smirk, lips shining and face damp from the light rain. She fought to undo the buckles about his shoulders and sides, which held that shining leather jacket in place, whilst moving her hips ever so slightly against him. The railing dug into the small of her back and she pushed towards him, as he carefully unhooked her bra and dropped it unceremoniously onto the concrete beside her dress.

Her skin looked pure white under the fluorescent lights, scars pink and pronounced, as the makeup that had covered them trickled off in droplets with the light rain. Trickles ran down over her breasts, tinted with the creamy flesh coloured powder. She unhooked the last of those cursed buckles and his jacket fell open, revealing a grey shirt and black pants beneath.

"That jacket's a bitch to unbuckle." She said with a sneer, as he cupped one of her breasts with his hand and sighed against her neck.

He bit her neck, teasingly, and hissed into her ear "I thought you liked uniforms. Too much of a challenge for you?"

Oh, he was just full of wit, she thought as she moved her hips against him, feeling that telling bulge in his pants.

"I enjoy a challenge." She purred.

He pushed her back, his arm around her shoulders, and leaned down to lick her breasts. His tongue was hot and slippery against her, and he flicked it over one nipple, before closing his teeth around that it with just the slightest of pleasure. It drew an excited gasp from her. He sucked on it then, that superfine stubble of his top lip grazing her sensitive flesh. She tilted her head back, that gentle rain tickling over her closed eyes, hair damp and hanging limp down her back. He moved his attention to her other breast and did the same. Her hips ground against him, growing more insistent at his ministrations.

He didn't want to wonder at just how much surgery she'd had. Didn't want to think about the fact that this so very inviting body had been cut open so many times. So many scars. How much of this body was really her? How much was enhanced, how much was changed? Maybe everything. But surely this was her skin, her bones, her flesh? Surely this was still Carmela or Amber, whichever name you might like to call her? This heartbeat was still hers wasn't it? She'd probably gladly list her extensive tweaks and fixes if he asked. Surgery was a fashion statement now, after all. Everyone was proud of their changes. Forget name brand clothing, it was all about designer body parts. He could ask her, he knew. But he never would.

That fine mist of rain continued to fall as Amber entwined one of her hands in his hair, those long, slim fingers tickling his scalp and making it tingle. Her other hand was firmly around him, inside his jacket and clutching at his side. His body was so warm under the jacket, that grey shirt of well washed cotton so smooth and comforting. Such a harsh contrast to that heavy leather of the jacket which was slick and shone from the mist of rain.

He pulled back from her chest, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers and look at her. Her heavy eyeliner was smudged, small trails of black trickling down her cheeks. Her icy blue eyes glinted as she smiled playfully, the corner of her mouth quirking, eyes narrowing slightly. She kissed him, her hand on his side gripping him harder, so that he could feel her nails through his shirt. He lifted her up and sat her on the railing, moving in to stand between her legs and grinding against her. His arm was tightly around her, holding her to him.

"Do you feel alive yet?" he asked, with a wry smile.

He pulled her underwear roughly to one side, to expose her and stroke her teasingly. She gasped, wrapping her legs around him and arching her back. She bucked her hips towards him, squeezing her legs around him to pull him closer.

She bit his ear lobe, then purred huskily into his ear, "Take me."

It was a command, not a suggestion. The rain continued to fall in a haze, catching those harsh white buzzing lights and seeming to glow in the very air around them like millions of tiny shining diamonds. That harsh concrete area was alive with breeze and water and bright white light. He fumbled with his pants and she reached out to tug them down impatiently. They fell to the concrete around her feet. Her hand groped for him to grasp him tightly, feeling that hot skin and pulsing hardness. She teased him for a moment, then sighed, a harsh and ragged sound, wrapping both her arms around him beneath his jacket, nails digging into his back. He had one arm still firmly around her shoulders and brought the other around the small of her back, dragging her into him. Somehow protective. The only thing between her and the sickening drop off the side of the tower. Oh! She certainly felt alive. She didn't trust him, no, Amber Sweet never trusted anyone as a rule. And that was what made it so exhilarating.

He entered her and she was hot like fire inside. Her skin was cool and slick with water, her face turned up towards the sky, eyes closed and lips parted slightly in a silent sigh. His face was in her neck, breathing against that cool skin that was damp and reeked of sickly sweet cherries.

She felt the rain on her face, felt that aching pleasure as he drove into her and felt the security of his strong arms around her.

"I could take you over with me. I could die fucking you." She said huskily, and it was almost poetic in its way, although she meant it literally.

He moved against her with that familiar strength, crushing her against him in an ongoing motion. He was breathing hard against her neck, a gasping, shuddering sound. She bit her lower lip, looking at him with heavily lidded, gleaming eyes and tightened her grip on him.

"Would you like to die fucking me?" she whispered, moving her hips against him.

He groaned, digging his fingers into her skin, short nails making tiny crescent shaped marks on her shoulder and back, "I think I already do." He said, and his voice was deep and rich like chocolate.

She squeezed her legs tighter to him, her breath heavy and hanging in the cold air like a fine mist. She licked her lips, tasting the cold rain on her tongue. Then she kissed him ferociously, skilful tongue and just the hint of her teeth on his lip. Hot breath and cold rain. Her trembling, damp body gleaming in the light, pale skin and jagged, shining scars. Her breasts jiggled as he moved against her, those dark pink nipples hard and her whole chest glistening with rain.

Being inside her was some kind of crushing ecstasy, bittersweet and aching. Somehow, it was very much like dying. Losing some part of himself, forgetting something. Because suddenly nothing seemed to matter anymore besides that illicit pleasure.

Faster he moved, never loosening his grip around her, holding her tightly, desperately. She moaned, a throbbing, frantic sound, and she murmured some unintelligible phrase, as her body shook and she threw her head back, rain drops pelting her smooth cheeks. And then she seemed to go limp against him, damp hair slick and hanging in tresses around her face. Strands hung in her eyes and he smoothed them back, holding her head and kissing her lips hungrily. He let himself go inside her, still kissing her, that pulsing feeling resonating deep within her.

And then they were both still and she clung to him, her heart pounding, vision blurred. The lights seemed to move and glow before her eyes, and she blinked, jaw slack and cheeks flushed with colour.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, just breathing and clutching at each other. She was still sitting on the railing, he was still between her legs, holding her with now shaking hands. She rested her cheek on his slick, leather covered shoulder, eyes closed and mind blissfully devoid of thoughts.

[[Medicine reminder. Medicine reminder.]]

That strange, electronic female voice cut through the gentle sound of the rain and he was at once alert, at once aware. He stumbled backwards, pulling her down from the railing and letting her go. He at once fumbled for his communicator which was on his wrist beneath his jacket sleeve. Amber stood, shivering slightly, panties slightly torn and still hitched to one side. She grasped the slippery railing, her legs a little shaky, watching Nathan with a blank expression.

He spoke into his communicator, turned away from her, "Shilo honey?"

His voice sounded different. Amber felt an odd tugging feeling in her stomach, some cold and unfamiliar thing.

A tiny voice from his communicator intoned in a childish way, "Hi dad. Are you coming home soon?"

She sounds sleepy, and Nathan is hurriedly pulling his pants on as he responds, "I got held up at work. Take your medicine and go to bed, okay?"

A brief moment of silence and then the little voice responds, "Okay."

"I'll see you soon, precious."

Amber sneered at his back. _Precious_? How nice. Her expression hardened and she started to gather up her discarded clothes from the concrete. They were damp and she curled her top lip in disgust. The rain is heavier now, and suddenly a low rumble of thunder is heard, half startling Amber as she pulled on her bra, wriggling into it.

Nathan turned back to her, looking uncomfortable, suddenly.

"I'd better get to that party." Amber said, "They'll be wondering where I am." She laughed coldly.

Whatever had been buzzing in the air minutes earlier, is gone now. They're just two people on a rooftop, getting quite wet from the rain that is getting steadily harder. A brilliant white fork of lightning flashes across the sky, seeming to split that grey clouds in two and throwing a piercing white glow on the city.

Amber wriggled into her dress, deftly tugging the zipper up and cupping her breasts to adjust them to a more alluring position in the bodice. She walked assuredly passed Nathan, hips swinging, to the fire door. She paused at the door for a moment, her hand on the door knob.

"Amber..." he said softly, as another roll of thunder boomed.

She hesitated for a moment more, and then threw the door open, disappearing down the stairs. Nathan ran a hand through his wet hair, and stood in the falling rain. Then he clenched his jaw, and took off towards the door.

-

He went home, to his Shilo. He changed out of his jacket and then went up the sweeping staircase, to quietly unlock Shilo's door and stand in her doorway. And he watched that innocent girl, sleeping peacefully, her white sheet pulled up to her chin, raven hair spread out on the pillow around her. She looked like her mother; that perfectly pale and smooth face. She stirred, seeming to sense his presence. She sat up, blinking sleepily, wig askew on her head slightly.

"Dad...?" she said, that melodic voice slightly slurred from sleepiness.

He smiled, walking to stand by her bed and stroke her hair, "Hi honey. Did the storm frighten you?"

Shilo rolled her eyes, "Dad, I'm not scared of storms." She said, "I _like_ them."

The rain was drumming on the roof; a comforting, soothing sound. Shilo gave him a small smile, lying back down in her bed as he checked her pulse, just to be safe. It seemed normal. Then he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Sleep well, Shi." He said softly, standing up to look at her with such an aching love.

"Dad...Have you been eating cherries?"


	14. Chapter 14

Shilo's seventeenth birthday. The seventeen year anniversary of Marni's death, too. It was always a conflicting feeling for Nathan, on that date. And today, it had been seventeen years. Somehow, he can't seem to quite believe that Shilo's that old. For he still looks on Shilo and sees an eternal child a lot of the time. And maybe some part of him wishes that she was, wishes that she never would grow up.

As he mixed up her morning tonic, that careful concoction of sedatives, poison and just a touch of zydrate, he felt no emotion. This was what kept her with him. This liquid, those pills. So many years had gone by, trickling passed him like a stream as he stood helpless to slow them down, swept along by that current. So many years of poisoning her, of imprisoning her in her room. But really, it wasn't a prison, he was quick to remind himself. She was happy. They were happy. He took care of her, and protected her. He loved her too much to let her go. This was how it had to be. The world was so harsh and cruel and frightening, and the thought of her in it was too much. Better that he keep her here, keep her away from all of that. Lest she end up like Amber. Lest she end up like him.

Presently, the electronic buzz noise of the intercom sounded from downstairs, alerting him to the presence of someone at the gate. This was not a common occurrence; he very rarely had visitors. Shilo clambered down from her bed and went to her window, tugging the curtains aside.

"Shilo-" Nathan began, as his daughter looked down at the front gate curiously.

"Dad, who's that?" She asked, peering out the window.

"Come away from the window, Shi. It's probably just a salesman." He replied, walking towards her with her afternoon dose of clear, fizzing tonic.

He glanced out the window and blanched. Not today…Even from this distance, no mistaking that well known outline of Amber Sweet, leaning on the gate and looking up at the house with a determined expression. Two muscular looking men were behind her, arms folded over their large chests. They seemed to be wearing odd bondage clothes, all leather and buckles and O rings.

Shilo looked up at him expectantly, "Do you know them?"

He didn't reply, just ushered her back to her bed. She sat down on it with a small frown, and he handed her the glass. She looked somewhat annoyed, but drank from the glass hurriedly, pulling a face as the bitter aftertaste filled her mouth.

The intercom sounded again, and then again.

Nathan sighed, as the buzzing grew to an almost constant sound, "I'll be back in a minute, honey."

He left her room, walking briskly down the hall and down the stairs in an easy, fluid motion.

He pressed the intercom button hurriedly and hissed into it, "What are you doing here?"

Amber's voice was a little shaky, "I need some money. Let me in!"

Nathan's expression grew stony, "Amber you can't…"

"For fuck's sake, let me _in_!" she exclaimed, sounding desperate and angry.

"Go away!" he hissed.

He heard her sigh harshly over the speaker, "Alright boys, up and over."

"Amber?" He said, suspiciously into the microphone.

No reply. He went to the front door and opened it a crack, peering out of the small opening. Amber was climbing his god damn fence; those two burly men were helping her over. He sighed heavily and walked outside, praying that Shilo wasn't at her window. She shouldn't see things like this.

"Go away!" he said again, urgently, as she tumbled over the fence and landed heavily on the other side, swaying unsteadily in her large, chunky black boots.

"Daddy won't give me any money! He's being really fucking mean!" She exclaimed, standing before him and swaying slightly, "He said I spend it too fast!"

Nathan ran a hand through his hair, regarding her coldly. Her hair was limp around her face, cheeks hollow and eyes red and sunken. Her skin was sickly and pale and beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. She was shaking all over. She stumbled towards him, laying a trembling hand on his arm, "Just a couple of hundred, okay? I'll pay you back."

There were two rather fresh looking scars that crisscrossed her upper chest.

"I don't _have_ a couple of hundred!" he said, angrily, "Go home, I'm not helping you get your fix."

She looked at him with a hot hatred, "I'm in _pain_!" she yelled, "I _need_ it!"

Her hand clutched at the sleeve of his shirt, and he could feel her trembling. Then her face hardened and she jerked her hand away from him, stumbling backwards towards the gate. She gave him a deadly look and turned to go.

"To hell with you, then." She said, in a low and dangerous voice, before she wrenched open the gate.

She took off down the street, those two men following her closely. Nathan watched her go, a turbulent feeling churning inside him. It was her own damn fault for going under the knife, right? It was her own damn fault for being a Z junkie, right? He shook his head, and turned to go back into the house. His wrist communicator beeped as he walked inside. It was a message from Rotti Largo, reminding him that a contract was due. He hurriedly shut off the communicator and ran up the stairs.

"I have to go into work, Shi." He said as he entered her room again, "I'm sorry honey, but I'll be back as soon as I can." He looked at her pale face, watching him with an unreadable expression.

* * *

"Next time, I want god damn _cash_ do you understand?"

Amber smirked up at him with glinting silver eyes, as she pulled her dress down over her thighs and he hurriedly did up his pants.

"Oh come on, Graverobber" she said teasingly, "That was better than cash."

He looked at her coldly, "_That_ doesn't put money in my pocket, Miss Sweet."

Her dealer wasn't bad looking, so it wasn't such a terrible thing to pay for zydrate this way, she pondered. She leaned back on the wall and watched him expectantly. The alley was dank and the afternoon sun barely lit it. She felt a thrill as he loaded his gun with one of those most wonderful vials of glowing, blue substance. She bit her lower lip in anticipation, and he moved forward to touch the tip of the gun firmly to her thigh.

The gun went off, sparking against her flesh, and she felt that familiar rushing feeling all at once. She sighed happily, slumping against the bricks. The Graverobber gave her a contemptuous look, and turned and walked out of the alley, smoothing down his clothes as he went. She watched him leave, as the world seemed to ripple and swirls of colour appeared. Nothing mattered, now. She slowly slid down onto the concrete floor. She heard footsteps entering the alleyway. That would be her bodyguards, she expected. She liked them. They looked good and didn't talk. They also followed her orders like well trained little puppy dogs. She looked up blearily, searching for their shapes in the blurred, suddenly colourful alley. But there was only one shape, and it didn't look like her guards. She blinked, looking up at him in confusion. Slowly, recognition dawned, from somewhere far within her zydrate fuelled mind.

"What are _you_ doing here, Repo man?" she slurred, distracted by a glowing light on the wall which seemed to move and beckon her invitingly.

Nathan took off his helmet and looked down at her with intense dislike. She'd rarely seen him look that disgusted, and that was saying something.

She tried to get up and failed, "What's _your_ problem? Oh, I get it, you thought _you_ were the only one I'd ever fuck in an alley?" She tilted her head up at him, fixing him with a flirty smile, "Jealous?"

Nathan looked away from her and said coldly, "Not in the slightest."

Amber scoffed, still sitting sprawled against the wall, "I don't believe you. Did you think we'd live happily ever after?" She laughed, cruelly, "Did you think I'd be happy to wait around till the next time you felt self loathing enough to fuck me?"

Nathan looked at her, with no expression on his face, "I never for one moment thought that it was anymore than it seemed. But I thought _you_ might be."

Amber struggled to get to her feet, that sweet drug coursing through her veins, making the world spin and twirl. Nathan stepped back from her as she staggered towards him, unsteady on her feet.

"It was just _business_." She said, as her head spun and that euphoria overtook her, "I needed it."

There was the hint of a pleading tone in her voice.

"Did you ever realise the _reason_ you're constantly trying to feel alive?" Nathan said suddenly, with a cold, even tone, "Because you're dead inside, Amber. You think I'm jealous? Of _him_? No, I'm just _disgusted. _You think you know what I am? Now I know what _you_ are too. And it makes me _sick_."

Amber lost her footing and tumbled to the ground again, but she was too far gone under the Z's beautiful embrace to feel the pain of her knees and palms scuffing the concrete.

"You're just...as dead as me." she said, her words slightly slurred, "You're no better."

He turned to leave, that long leather jacket swishing as he moved, "I have reasons."

Amber grew angry, "You think I don't have _reasons_?" She demanded, looking up at him and falling back to sit on her heels, "Don't pretend you're a _hero_, Nathan!"

That well known euphoria was rushing and pulsing, to pound in her blood and cloud her mind, making it hard to grasp reality. She felt it ebb and flow and she fought to stay alert, fought to stay aware.

He stopped walking but he didn't turn around, "What you do becomes who you are, Carmela."

She flinched at his use of her former name.

A moment of silence, and then she said "Brown."

"_What_?" he snapped, turning around to look down at her with utter disdain.

She looked slowly up at him, "My eyes were brown."

He looked startled for a moment, staring down at her. Then his expression softened. He looked like he was about to say something, but at that moment she slumped forward again, groaning softly as wave after wave of that deliciously numbing sensation overcame her body. She thought she heard him sigh softly, and then footsteps leaving the alley. The next thing she was aware of was being hoisted up by her two bodyguards to her feet. She looked around blankly, as they helped her leave the alley. Good men, these. They respected her privacy, and kept quiet.

_Everything's wonderful, it's wonderful. Wait, what was I...Where did you.__..__Nathan?_


	15. Chapter 15

_AN - Hello everybody! It's been a long time, but it's always annoyed me with this fic, as I always had a certain ending in mind but I changed it at the last minute to go a different way. However, I always felt it was rather rushed and that I'd left out something. So this is a little extra part just to get into Nathan's feelings before the epilogue. This is set during 'Who Ordered Pizza' in case this isn't clear._

She was high as a kite the last time he saw her.

Lying on the couch in her father's office, some dark smudges of makeup upon her cheeks, as if she had been crying. Or as if she were merely too drugged out to care. She wore a white dress, the bodice tight and gleaming, whilst the skirt fell in ruffles of white and black, looking as soft as down feathers.

Those eyes locked onto his as he stood in the doorway, even as her father and brothers looked on. He had no time for her. He had no time for her games, now.

Her two brothers stood in the room also, and Rotti Largo sat behind his gleaming desk, a small smirk playing over his face. His black eyes seemed to gleam in the half light. Nathan strode to the desk and deposited the metal container holding the newest repossessed organ, flipping it open to expose the contents, as Luigi and Pavi giggled and made snide comments. Nathan ignored them.

"You wanted to see me?" he said, addressing Rotti, his tone businesslike and brisk.

"Thank you for coming." Rotti replied, smiling cruelly as if eager to divulge his news. "I have a new assignment for you."

"Is there a reason why you couldn't phone me this target?" Nathan asked, a cold dread causing a tight knot in his stomach.

Something about this situation was unsettling him greatly. Rotti's undisguised glee could not mean anything good.

"This is a job of special importance." Rotti replied, "It is involved a GeneCo employee."

"The has-been soprano." Amber interjected, with an obvious loathing in her voice, as she stumbled drunkenly from her place on the couch, to lean close to Nathan.

"A traitor to GeneCo!" added Luigi, his eyes flashing with anger.

"I can't afford a scandal here." Rotti continued, as if Amber and Luigi had not interrupted, "Please handle Mag as best you can."

Nathan's feeling of shock must have registered on his face, for Rotti's eyes gleamed. The bastard was enjoying this. He never had forgiven, never had forgotten what Nathan had done. Was making him, Nathan, into a hired killer not enough? Would there be no end to the man's revenge for Nathan stealing Marni?

Amber leaned in and hissed in Nathan's ear, "Take her down!"

The way she said it was intimate, like a lover. Her breath was hot on his cheek. He felt a white hot fury at her, at her brothers and at Rotti, for their obvious happiness in his discomfort. Her two brothers were smiling expectantly, as if daring Nathan to refuse the request.

Amber looked at him, all bedroom eyes and unsteady on her feet. He shoved her roughly aside as she reached out to touch him, and she slumped back onto the place on the couch like a rag doll. And yet as he turned to go he felt those kohl smudged eyes boring into him.

Mag had been Marni's best friend. And now, he was expected to snuff out her life? His carefully controlled existence seemed to be fraying at the edges and he felt powerless to prevent it completely disintegrating. Shilo was getting difficult to control, she was lashing out at him where she never would have dared in the past. How had he gotten here? Was he losing his daughter?

"Remember who you are, Nathan! Remember what you did to Marni!"

Rotti's words seemed to resonate within Nathan's own mind, drawing up those painful, aching memories that always seemed to swim just beneath the surface. His last moments with Marni as she lay dying in his arms. He could almost feel that sickeninly warm and sticky blood that had poured from her as he had callously slashed open her stomach, hands delving inside to draw out the tiny, defenseless creature from her womb even as Marni's body grew still. Shilo.

"We made an agreement," Rotti continued, "You'll do as you're told. Or I guarrantee that Shilo will learn of how you murdered your wife."

Would Rotti truly tell his darkest secret to Shilo if he refused to kill Marni's best friend? Did it even matter anymore? But no, he couldn't kill her. He couldn't betray his wife any further than he already had. He couldn't cut out Mag's eyes...Eyes that had once belonged to Marni. Although they had been enhanced, they were still the same eyes as that woman he had loved beyond all measure. How could he even consider it? He made up his mind and his voice was steady and empty of emotion, although he could feel his heart beating crazily as cold dread gripped him.

"I cannot do this job. Find someone else." He said, and his voice seemed to echo in that dark and brooding office.

And so too, did his footsteps echo as he walked away down the hall, not looking back. Rotti may kill him for this. Let him try. What you do, becomes who you are. It didn't matter anymore. He had to get back to Shilo. Perhaps he could take her and they could run. Perhaps there was still a chance. To keep things the way they had been for the past seventeen years. But he wasn't so sure he even wanted that anymore.

And for some reason, he thought of Amber as he walked through the gate and up the long driveway to his house. And of the photo of her that was sitting on his dresser in his room. Such an arrogant woman, yet the fact she had autographed the photo in such a way seemed oddly self deprecating at the same time. How could someone who exuded such a confidence also seem so horribly fragile at the same time? And he wondered why he hadn't just thrown the god damn photo out. Had he actually come to care for her?

And then his thoughts were interrupted, as he realised Mag was standing in his lounge room.


	16. Epilogue

_AN: I hope this isn't too confusing - it is set after the events of the film. I am all about staying faithful to the events in the film, you know! Because I worship the pants off it. Huh. Worship the pants off it? I'm weird. Anyway I hope this is pleasing, I am so sad that this fic has come to an end. I really had a good time writing it. I have a lot of love for Amber now haha._

Amber kept her eyes firmly closed, groaning softly. She was aware of an aching numbness in her body and face. Slowly, memories trickled in at her, the events of hours ago coming back to her in odd little bits and pieces.

Shilo was a bit of a midget, really. Not really anything _perfect _about her, Amber had thought. Yet Amber's own father...Her chest stung at the memory of it. He'd wanted to leave all of Geneco to that boring little midget? What the hell had he been thinking? Kid didn't want it anyway, so the joke was on Rotti, in the end. And now he was dead. Strangely, Amber felt very little about that particular turn of events.

She'd heard a gunshot, and rushed to the stage to find out what the hell was going on, face raw and aching but numbed somewhat by a healthy dose of zydrate. Her father was there, and he looked at her with such a coldness in his eyes.

"_You disgust me, you're not my daughter..."_

It was then she had noticed Nathan, that midget daughter of his was helping him out of a chair he'd been tied to. Damn, he hadn't looked too good. Such a lot of blood. Amber had turned and run from the stage. She knew with a cold certainty that her father was going to die. She wasn't stupid. Her idiot brothers had been too dense to realise how ill he was. She had glanced back towards the stage and saw him fall down. And she didn't care.

Presently, she hauled herself up into a sitting position, looking around the brightly lit hospital room. She brought a trembling hand up to her face. Smooth, perfect skin. Hopefully the stupid surGENs hadn't fucked it up this time. Losing face in front of all those people, quite literally, was really not a good feeling. Damn, how fickle people really were. But never mind, she could tell them it was all part of the show. The idiots would believe it. Everyone eventually believes what you tell them to believe in the end, her father taught her that. They'd still love her. She was Amber fucking Sweet, after all. And you know what else? She'd take Geneco. She was clearly the best person for the job. Even her stupid brothers would see that. Everyone loved her, so they'd support her. A small smirk quirked her mouth at the thought.

She brought herself out of her musings and decided to get down to business. There was a drip in her hand and she hurriedly wrenched it out, stumbling out the bed. She felt vaguely shaky and clumsy as she walked to the door. She was wearing a cotton hospital gown, one of those pale green things. She picked up her long, silky coat which was hanging on a chair near the door, and pulled it on. It hung to her ankles and was as soft as satin. A GENtern came rushing into the room, those white high heeled shoes clacking on the smooth linoleum floor.

"Miss Sweet you shouldn't be up!" she exclaimed, a red visor obscuring her eyes, bright red lips wearing a broad, vapid smile.

Amber shoved her out of the way, "Where is he?! I told them to help him! Did they get to him in time?"

The GENtern looked confused, gazing at Amber who looked dishevelled and furious.

"Where is Nathan Wallace?!" Amber demanded, startling the GENtern who cringed back from her.

-

They'd had to replace a few major organs, and he was now heavily sedated and unconscious, breathing evenly with the aid of the many machines that were hooked up to him, beeping and whirring. Amber walked into the ward and walked towards him shakily, thinking how strange he looked. She almost wouldn't have recognised him. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, no expression, no personality. She sat down in a chair at his bedside, hugging her long coat around herself. It was so cold in the room and she wondered if he was cold too. She reached out and touched his cheek. No, he felt quite warm. She sat back in the chair, looking at him curiously. He would wake up. She knew he would. Quite an unfamiliar sensation overcame her as she looked at him, some burning feeling in her eyes, a sudden heaving in her chest. And she realised that her freshly repaired cheeks were wet. She rubbed her eyes irritably. He would wake up. She blinked back fresh tears. Fuck. Why was she crying? She steeled herself, focussing on his face.

And she waited for him to open his eyes.

Geneco needed its favourite Repo man, after all. And so did she.

[end – see a 'happy ending' for you Rippertish XD]


	17. I Know Where You Sleep Lyrics

_AN: Here are the complete lyrics to Emilie Autumn's 'I Know Where You Sleep' the song which Amber did her sultry rendition of at her show hehe._

I know the sickening thoughts that slither around your head  
I know the gluttonous guilt that buried me in your bed  
Manipulate me if you can  
Go on and fool me like your biggest fan

I know the arrogant pride that poisons the truth you hear  
I know the bigoted tongue that tears away all your fear  
Pontificate you faded star  
Go on and show me who you really are!

You can lie to the papers  
You can hide from the press  
You can fake it on stage  
You can crawl from your cage  
You can search and destroy  
You can kill and depend on it  
I know your tainted flesh  
I know your filthy soul  
I know each trick you played  
Whore you laid  
Dream you stole  
I know the bed in the room in the wall in the house where you got what you wanted and ruined it all  
I know the secrets that you keep  
I know where you sleep

I know the illness behind the image you create  
I know the tedious need to turn all you love into hate  
You poor pathetic paranoid  
Is it just me, or do you secretly enjoy it?

You can lie to the papers  
(You can lie) You can hide from the press  
(You can hide) You can fake it on stage  
You can crawl from your cage  
You can search and destroy  
You can kill and depend on it  
(Fake, crawl, search, kill)  
I know your tainted flesh  
(You can't hide)  
I know your filthy soul  
(You can't hide)  
I know each trick you played  
(You can fake it if you try)

Whore you laid  
Dream you stole  
I know the bed in the room in the wall in the house where you got what you wanted and ruined it all  
I know the secrets that you keep  
I know where you sleep....

You play the victim very well  
You build yourself indulgent hell  
You wanted someone to understand you  
Well be careful what you wish for because I do  
You've got a fancy turn of phrase  
You set your trap  
You made your plays  
You're so fond of games  
You must never lose  
Funny how the only one in your bed is...you

You can lie to the papers  
You can hide from the press  
You can lie to the papers  
You can hide from the press  
(Fake, crawl, search, kill)  
You can lie to the papers  
You can hide from the press  
(Fake, crawl, search, kill)  
Fake! Crawl! Search! Kill!

Oh my god oh my god!  
I touched you  
I can never live it down I can never live it down  
God save the queen!  
I love you...  
I can never live it down I can never live it down  
Oh, oh I fucked you  
I can never live it down

I can never live it down  
I can never...live it down

I know the sickening thoughts that slither around your head  
I know the gluttonous guilt that buried me in your ...shh!... bed

You can lie to the papers  
You can hide from the press  
You can fake it on stage  
You can run from your cage  
You can search and destroy  
You can kill and depend on it  
I know your tainted flesh  
I know your filthy soul  
I know each trick you' played  
Whore you laid  
Dream you stole  
I know the bed in the room in the wall in the house where you got what you wanted and ruined it  
I know the bed in the room in the wall in the house where you got what you wanted and ruined it  
I know the bed in the room in the wall in the house where you got what you wanted and ruined it  
I know the secrets that you keep!  
I know where you sleep!

I'm wishing you the best of luck  
And by the way  
(Your poetry sucks)  
I'm wishing you the best of luck  
And by the way  
(Your poetry sucks)  
I'm wishing you the best of luck  
And by the way (Your poetry sucks)  
I'm wishing you the best of luck  
And by the way....


End file.
